To Win At Any Cost
by Ramzes
Summary: There is a big Quidditch match that James Potter feels he should win at any cost... but when he does, he realizes he hasn't defined 'At Any Cost' like that. A part of my The Hardest Battle series.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: The only one I own is Angela Peters.**

To Win at Any Cost

"We're done!" James yelled. He was painfully aware of the grim looks that the members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team were giving him and he was grateful that the falling dusk hid the furious blush of his cheeks. He knew that they were not doing well and that it was mainly his fault – as their captain and star Chaser he was the one they looked up at most, but the truth was, he just wasn't at his best right now. For first time in his life, he had to really put efforts into his studies, he had to deal with the revelation that life was not just a big joke thanks to Sirius and his idea of a great prank, he didn't have that much time to decide what he wanted to be after he graduated next year. His heart was still set on Quidditch, but he didn't have so much time for practicing and when he did, he couldn't lose himself in it the way he had been able to only a few months ago.

And the match that would take place tomorrow would determine which team – Gryffindor or Ravenclaw – would meet Slytherin at the last game for the year. Gryffindor _had to_ win this match.

And they weren't at their best.

A dark-haired Ravenclaw came to them as soon as they left the Quidditch pitch. James immediately recognized her dark hair and olive complexion, but even if he hadn't, he could have said who it was just by the way Sirius' steps quickened at the sight of her. _It's as if he hasn't seen her for ages_, James thought angrily.

Angela Peters seemed quite unfazed by the dark looks the Gryffindors gave her – it was something usual for the members of opposing teams to be at odds with each other before a match. "Bad practice?" she asked and that made James finally crack.

"What are you doing here, Peters? Spying on us?"

Unlike her words which had been careless and casual, just the usual bantering, his were acid and malicious. She blinked, briefly surprised by his hostility, but came to her senses soon enough. "Just waiting for my boyfriend, Potter. Is your play really so poor that you should be afraid of _that_?"

That remark hit home. James Potter and Angela Peters, the star Chasers of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, had been rivals on the Quidditch pitch ever since their second year, when each had made the team of their respective Houses. Each of them had won and lost: James had scored the goal that had won Gryffindor the Quiddich Cup in their second year, but Angela had made it possible for Ravenclaw to compete in the final match in their third, where they had beaten Slytherin; James had tricked the Ravenclaw Keeper in their fifth year and managed to score a crucial goal, but at his try to repeat this feat, Angela had feigned and suddenly barring the way, she had managed to grab the ball before it reached the goal and before the Gryffindor team could recover from their surprise, she had shoot across the whole length of the pitch, right past the Gryffindor Keeper and into the goal. Their friends said that instead of Gryffindor-Ravenclaw, the matches between the two teams should be called Potter-Peters. Apart from being true, it had such a nice ring to it, they said. James and Angela laughed at this and took it as the big joke it was. The Potter-Petters rivalry and, in general, equality, was just part of the Hogwarts routine.

But lately, while James had been trying to find his real self, Angela had stayed the way she had always been – clever, devoted to her studies and Quidditch and sure of herself and what she wanted to be. He was distraught, she was not; the only thing that was different about her was that now she had Sirius as a boyfriend, but even that had not inflicted some major changes in her life.

In short, right now Angela was playing better than James, as proven by the last two Gryffindor-Ravenclaw matches where she had taken the lead even without too much effort.

Would she do it again tomorrow?

Sirius glared at him and James realized that his friend was angry. "If you cannot play for real, do not take it out of her," he hissed in a low voice, so only James could hear him.

Angela and Sirius left the pitch together, leaving James to stare darkly after them, feeling like he had been deserted by everyone, even his best friend. The team started muttering, giving their captain disapproving looks

_I have to beat her tomorrow. We must win. At any cost._

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_Four hours later…_

When James' broom landed in the centre of the pitch, he was surprised to see Remus there, staring at him. "Hey, what are you doing here?"

"I could ask the same question. Why aren't you in the dorm? It's half past eleven, James. You need to be rested tomorrow."

James stared at his friend to see whether there was any accusation on his face, but met only a concerned question in his eyes. "Is Padfoot back?" he asked.

Remus nodded. "He came back two hours ago. And no, he isn't angry with you," he went on, having correctly guessed what James' next question would be. "He lashes out, but he's quick to forgive, and rightly so, because the others have to forgive him all the time. You know how he is."

"Actually," James said slowly, "I'm not sure. I'm not sure anymore. Not when it comes to her. I'll tell you something. I expected that he'd just play with her for a while and then toss her aside and be done with her. I was actually disappointed, because I liked her mettle… but so far, it hasn't happened."

Remus burst out laughing. "Be done with her? Are you kidding? Let's hope that when she's done with him, he'll be able to mend the pieces of his broken heart."

The incredible idea of Sirius with broken heart made James laughed – for a first time this day. Remus laughed too. "Come on," he said, "let's go inside."

James shook his head. "Give me twenty minutes and I promise I'll go back to the dormitory and sleep the whole night like a good little boy," he grinned.

Remus shook his head in despair. "Are twenty minutes of practice really going to make such a big difference?" he asked.

"I have to beat her _tomorrow_," James said. "If we don't win this match, that'll be the end."

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_The next morning…_

"20:10 for Ravenclaw," the commentator cried, just before James intercepted the Quaffle and threw it in Ravenclaw goal, equalizing the result. Carrie Ross grabbed the next Quaffle and shot, but right when she was aiming, a Bludger came and shook her on her broom, declining the shot. Angela Peters managed to lay her hands on the ball and send it in the Gryffindor goal just a moment before a Gryffindor Beater – her loving boyfriend, Sirius Black – almost knocked her off her broom with a deadly aimed Bludger.

Right now, romances and tender feelings weren't worth a Knut. All that mattered was to win. For everyone.

Angela managed to stay on her broom and pass the Quaffle to one of her teammates. She even scored a goal, but after her initial successes, she seemed to have lost her spirit. Maybe the fact that James managed to actually steal the Quaffle from right before her had discouraged her, but that wouldn't last long.

And yet, it did. Shocked, James realized that he had done the same thing again, snatching the Quaffle almost out of her fingers, while she was looking at him, just as shocked as him, her face pale, her hand flown to her throat, as if she wanted to strangle a disbelieving cry.

Ravenclaw scored a goal. Eighty to fifty. Her hand still pressed to her throat, Angela directed her broom at the Quaffle, trying to make a pass, while James was aiming another ball at the Ravenclaw Keeper and the Seekers of the two teams were flying sight to side towards a round golden gleam…

And then everything exploded.

The Gryffindor Seeker gave a victorious cry, clutching the Snitch, but his rival was not even nearby, when mere moments ago he had been next to him; now Michael Davies was flying at full speed downwards, trying to catch his teammate Angela Peters, who was falling rapidly, Madame Hooch bellowed the Gryffindor's victory and the members of the two teams were rushing after Davies, hoping to catch Angela before she hit the ground; the spectators were trying to catch her in time, but she was having a strange fit that kept her trashing in all directions, so no one could point his wand at her – there was no saying where she would be the next moment. Her broom flew off, and she continued falling. James drew his wand out, but he knew it was hopeless… A few meters away from him, Sirius was shouting something, his face contorted in terror, but the wind was blowing his words away. James closed his eyes, waiting for the sound of a body hitting the ground and breaking skull and bones – but it did not come. James opened his eyes.

Michael Davies was next to him, his face pale with fear, his arms tightly encircling Angela. He had managed to catch her only two meters before she hit the ground and he had immediately sped upwards, so they would not both crash.

She was still trashing in his arms, her arms and legs flailing furiously, her eyes rolling wildly.

James pressed her arms to her sides and helped Davies bring her to the ground, where she was immediately brought to the infirmary, the whole school following the procession.

"Mr Black, you cannot enter!" Madame Pomfrey barked.

"But, Madame Pom – "

"Listen," the school nurse said firmly, "I don't have the time to argue. Stay here and wait!"

And she slammed the door right in front of Sirius, who was beside himself with worry. Well, James could sympathize with him. If it had been Lily… he shuddered just at the thought of it.

A few moments later, the Ravenclaw team burst in, followed by the Gryffindor one. "What happened?" Margery Wilks, another Ravenclaw Beater, cried. "How is she?"

"They don't let us in," James answered darkly. "She must have had some sort of attack. Was she unwell this morning?"

"No," Margery denied, "she was all right during breakfast. Oh Merlin, is she going to be all right? I thought she was going to crash, it was so awful – " Her voice faded, and Davies patted her awkwardly on the shoulder.

The Gryffindor team looked just as distressed as the Ravenclaws. The thought that a classmate of theirs was in such state was more than concerning. "Well," Sam Chapman offered hesitantly at his teammates, "at least we won."

James shrank him with a look. "I'd rather lose," he snapped and realized that it was true. When he had thought that they had to win at any cost, he hadn't meant _that_ cost! He'd rather have Angela play against him right now – and win. "No, Sirius, don't!" he said quickly and stepped in front of his best friend, who looked ready to curse Chapman into oblivion.

Madame Pomfrey went out three hours later, when almost everyone had got tired of waiting and left. The only ones staying were the Ravenclaw team, a few friends of Angela, Professor Flitwick, who was of course her Head of House, and the Marauders.

The school nurse looked exhausted, but the smile that lit her face the moment she looked at them told them everything they had been praying to hear. Everyone relaxed and burst out in questions. "Miss Peters' life is out of danger now," Madame Pomfrey said, "but it was a close call."

James was shaken at the thought that a smart, lively girl could have died just like that.

The nurse looked at the people in the room. "Does Miss Peters have some known allergies?" she asked.

"Yes." The answer came from two people at the same time: Remus and Vesta Billings, both close friends of Angela's.

"She's allergic to all sorts of Calming Potions, she told me herself" Vesta went off. Remus nodded in confirmation. "When we're working with such ingredients in our Poton classes, she usually leaves. Professor Slughorn is acquainted with her condition and he doesn't make fuss for her absences or anything. Really – " She shrugged. "It isn't a big deal."

"It is now," Madame Pomfrey cut her off. "You see, there is a solid amount of these ingredients in Miss Peters' body. She suffered an allergic shock and that caused the spasms. She's lucky her respiratory organs didn't completely shut off."

Vesta stared at her. "But Angela doesn't take such potions!" she cried. "She's very cautious about that and anyway, her nerves are all right and she doesn't have trouble sleeping."

"That means," Madame Pomfrey said, "that someone had given her the potion without her knowledge."

Professor Flitwick straightened up. "I shall report to the Headmaster."

"But why? What about?" Sirius asked.

The tiny teached eyed him sternly. "Someone has slipped a Calming Potion to my best Chaser right before the match – if it had been earlier, she would have felt the effects sooner. Whoever did it didn't know that she's allergic to it. He probably did it just to slow her reflexes, so she wouldn't score too many goals." His voice became hard. "So Gryffindor would win."

James realized that everyone – Flitwick, Pomfrey, Billings, the Ravenclaws and even Sirius and Remus – was looking straight at him.

6


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Nothing is mine.**

_A big thanks to the people who reviewed. _

Chapter 2

The next few days were as bad as they came. No one was allowed to see Angela yet and there were many speculations that she would suffer a permanent damage and that her throat was so constricted that she was still having trouble breathing on her own. The rumours were spreading as quickly as only rumours in a school could and the tension was running high. The news about the calming potion that had been slipped to Angela had somehow escaped the infirmary and by the general reaction, one could think that someone was guilty of attempted murder. And according to the Ravenclaws, they knew who this 'someone' was – someone from the Gryffindor Quidditch team. There were two duels in the first morning alone and the infirmary was steadily gaining a stream of new patients, since the studious Ravenclaws had obviously decided to be more Gryffindorish than Gryffindors themselves and started duels with virtually every Gryffindor they saw, except for the first years. There were accusations on both sides, old grudges between houses were being dug out, with the result that the detention schedule of almost every teacher was full for the next two months. Hufflepuffs were generally trying not to take sides, but the Slytherins were positively gloating.

The worst of all was that the general opinion pointed mostly to one possible culprit: the Gryffindor Quidditch captain, Angela Peters' biggest rival. James Potter. Oh there weren't many people who would suspect him of actually trying to harm the Ravenclaw girl, but that was the matter: whoever had done it to her had meant her no harm, he had just wanted to incapacitate her slightly and temporarily. It was no problem for someone to see the whole things as a great prank and James Potter was the king of pranks. Besides, his recent resentment towards her was no secret. Neither was the fact that their rivalry had seemed not so equally anymore. And it was well-known that he would do _everything_ for his team to win.

Of course, the same applied to his best friend and for a while, there were rumours that Angela's own boyfriend had been the one to slip the potion to her, but they were just idle speculations that no one believed seriously – it was obvious that Sirius Black was besotted with her. After all, he was still with her after she had humiliated him publicly and for long – the sign that read 'Property of Angela Peters' had only recently faded from his face. It did not make sense that he'd risk inflaming her wrath again so soon. He did not suit big multiple-coloured spots at all.

So, that left James as the most probable culprit. It was not only the Ravenclaws that believed so – there were pretty many Gryffindors who suspected him too, although no one had dared to say so in his face. At least Padfoot and Moony seemed convinced that he was not the one to blame, but James knew he'd never forget the brief moment of suspicion in their eyes there, in the infirmary. If his _friends_ could think he was capable of such a dishonest trick, why should he blame the others for thinking the same way? He almost expected to be singled out by the teachers, but if they thought he was the perpetrator, they kept it quiet. He was summoned to the Headmaster's office, of course, but he was not the only one – the whole Gryffindor Quidditch team, as well as the Ravenclaw one, had to describe what had happened during the match and earlier, in the Great Hall during breakfast, because it was almost sure that Angela had taken the potion around that time – had it been earlier, she would have had the fit _before_ the match. It did not take much time to find out how exactly she had been tricked into drinking it.

"It was the chocolate," James heard Vesta Billings saying in the evening of the day after the accident. "Angela and I, we are the only ones in Ravenclaw who drink dark chocolate this early in the morning and we did so yesterday. I went to the infirmary and let Madame Pomfrey to run an examination. There was a solid amount of calming potion in my body that I certainly don't recall taking. At least, not knowingly."

The Ravenclaws around her started muttering angrily. By now, it had become clear that Angela was the only one of the team who had been dosed. Despite everyone's hopes that she would be well enough to join her classmates for dinner, Madame Pomfrey still hadn't thought it sound to release her and there was a word about a few Healers from St. Mungo's coming in and out the whole day to monitor her condition. All this was bad news, of course.

"Well?" Margery Wilks spat at James and his housemates who were walking behind her group in the corridor. "What are you listening to? Hoping to catch some other weak spots in the team? Angela is still in the infirmary and you won the bloody match, so you'll be the ones playing Slytherin in the final match. What the hell do you want from us _now_?" She stared at the Gryffindors without trying to disguise her resentment. "Or maybe you're planning on making a habit out of poisoning people?"

Her words were very insulting, but the fact that Angela really wasn't there was even more so. Her absence was like a shout against the Quidditch obsession of the wizarding world, like a silent question whether it was worth it to win at any cost. Anyway, the wands were already drawn out, when the sudden appearance of a young, dark-haired man made James and his friends freeze.

"Hello, everyone," Raymond Lupin greeted. Without losing time, he placed the four-year-old that he was carrying in Remus' arms and answered in advance the questions that were about to arise. "No, Angela's life isn't in danger. Yes, her condition remains serious. Yes, if we deem it serious enough, she will be transferred to St. Mungo's, but for now, my colleagues don't think is necessary. I'll find you in the common room as soon as I have a free minute." He looked at the little boy. "Do not pester your uncle. Do not run around. Stay wherever he puts you and I mean it, John, otherwise you'll receive a punishment more severe than everything your little brain can fathom. And do not steal anyone's wand," he listed in a hurry and then left without another word.

"Who was that?" one of the Ravenclaw girls asked.

"My brother," Remus answered.

She snorted. "He sure is. He looks nothing like you."

It was true: Raymond was black-haired and blue-eyed and he and Remus looked nothing alike.

"No, he doesn't, but he _is_ my brother. His name is Raymond, he's twenty-two and he works at St. Mungo's." Remus' face was concerned. The fact that yet another Healer had been summoned meant only that Angela's recovery was not as good as everyone hoped. "Oh no, you don't," he added, when the little boy started to squirm in his arms. "Did you not hear what your Daddy told you?" he asked sternly and tightened his grip.

His nephew's little face broke in a wide smile. "But we never listen to Daddy, only we never tell him that," he answered, quoting Remus to Remus himself. Then, he looked around for support and his grin grew wider at the sight of his summer babysitters. "Do we, James? Sirius? Peter?"

Remus groaned. "I knew that one day I'd be sorry for that," he said. "Come on, John, let's feed you."

"Can I have chocolate?" John asked hopefully.

Since he was in great need of the kid being silent and content, Remus closed his eyes and mentally asked his brother for forgiveness. "Only if you behave," he said. "You know, you've grown uglier since the last time I saw you," he added, carrying him to the Great Hall.

A girl gasped indignantly from behind them, but John grinned again. "You're uglier," he answered, flattered. "Can we play fish?" he asked.

That was going to be a very long evening indeed.

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_A few hours later…_

"What are you doing to the child?" a high-pitched voice screamed, and James sighed. Why, oh why did he always have to get on Lily's bad side?

She screamed again, this time with horror, when Sirius flicked his wand at the boy who was currently floating in the air with his head down and swirled him in a whirlwind, before _tossing_ him around and lowering him, so he could catch him.

"You're all mental," she whispered. Even in the twilight, they saw how white her face was. "You could have dropped him, you idiots!"

"We wouldn't," Remus answered. "Does he seem miserable to you?" he added, pointing at John, who was currently begging Sirius for more.

"He's still a child!" she spat angrily. "He doesn't know what's good for him!"

"I am not a child!" John interrupted. "I'm a fish."

His hair was mused and wet, and full of sand, his clothes were in disarray and he was dripping water. There were huge green prints on his face – he had obviously rolled in the grass. Remus sighed. "Come on," he told him, hoping to avoid the confrontation with Lily. "Let's go in the tower, so I can wash you and make you a human boy again."

"No," John said.

"Does your brother know what the four of you do while babysitting his son?" Lily asked suspiciously.

James could not resist the temptation of having a conversation with her, even if this conversation consisted mainly of her yelling at him. "I think so," he said. "That's why he never asks Remus to babysit if there is another option. I suppose they grabbed him straight from St. Mungo, otherwise he would have arranged something for John."

Lily gasped. "You mean he actually takes the kid to the _hospital_?" she asked, appalled. Sure, she assumed that it was not always easy to find a babysitter at a short notice, but bringing a child in a hospital? Could there be a more unsuitable place for keeping a little boy?

It turned out that it could. "And Sylvie takes him to the Aurors' headquarters," James said. "She's an Auror, you know."

Lily shook her head. Was the whole world going mental? She could not imagine what kind of a woman would take her child to the Ministry while working. Sylvie Lupin could not keep an eye on him constantly there anyway. Sure, Lily knew that Remus' family was not wealthy, but there had to be another way.

"Here he is," Remus suddenly said. Everyone looked at the castle. Raymond was coming towards them. When he approached, they saw his wide smile and relaxed. "Tomorrow, Angela will be able to receive visitors," he said immediately and sat on the grass. John came bouncing towards him and Raymond only shook his head at the state of his outfit.

"Daddy!" the boy cried happily and threw herself at him. Raymond caught him.

"What are you to Daddy?" he asked.

"I'm Daddy's monster," John announced, then his head fell on his father's shoulder and he fell asleep. Just like that. Lily shook her head again. Children always surprised her… Anyway, this one didn't need saving anymore, so she left.

Raymond looked at the four boys. "What happened?" he asked. "I heard something about a Quidditch rivalry – "

"Oh yes," James said angrily. "Obviously I was so scared that she'd beat me for third time in a row that I slipped her something that would make her drowsy and ended up accidentally poisoning her."

Raymond stared at him. "What rubbish," he said.

"You don't believe it?" James asked.

"Of course I don't."

"Well, Raymond, you are the only one."

"Really?"

"Oh yes. My friends here totally believed it."

James realized that he was yelling and threw a quick glance at John, but the kid seemed to be dead to the world. He would probably sleep through an earthquake.

"Ah." Raymond shrugged. "Well, I could never accuse Remus of being overly smart. I suppose it's the bad company that does it." He smiled and then immediately became serious. "I think you're wrong," he said. "All of you. You're narrowing your suspicions only to the Quidditch players and I don't think that's right."

"Why?" Remus asked. "It has something to do with Quidditch. It must have."

"I agree," his brother said. "I've never been into Quidditch, but I've seen really bad sport obsession since I married Sylvie. Her cousins are duelists of standing reputation and I've had many contacts with people from sports circles. The sportsmen are not the only one obsessedv with victory. There are addicts between the viewers, there are running stakes. Too many interests, not only of the players themselves."

Remus groaned. "Why, thank you, Raymond. You've just increased the number of suspects to practically everyone in Hogwarts."

"I'm sorry."

James looked at him curiously. "Raymond?"

"Yes?"

"Why you say I'm not the culprit?"

"The nose."

James stared, not sure that he had heard right. "I don't smell guilty, you mean?"

Raymond looked completely serious. "In a way. No one who lets a Bludger break his nose only to score a goal with the Quaffle lacks courage. And style. A person who wants so much to win, to gain a victory, doesn't resort to cheap tricks. It's too easy and in this case, too trivial also."

James rubbed his nose. He had almost forgotten how he had broken it two years ago. Then he laughed. "Acquitted by my nose," he said, "who could think about that."

Yet, he had the horrible feeling that Angela might not accept his nose as a proof for his innocence.

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**A. N. If you want to know how Sirius gained a sign reading "Property of Angela Peters" on his face, go to my story "A Matter of Property".**


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine._

**Thanks to everyone who left a review. The new chapter is finally here and I know I've been unforgivably late, but I had no choice. I have a real life, a real job, and way too many stories to update whenever I have the chance.**

Chapter 3

"Don't make her talk too long," Raymond warned. "And don't tell her anything that might get her excited, or upset, or – anything."

"I know, I know," Sirius interrupted. He was about to say, "Trust me, I won't," when he was suddenly aware of who he was talking to. Raymond Lupin didn't trust him at all. Not after the Shrieking Shack accident. Raymond made no secret of the fact that he thought his brother weak and stupid, to have forgiven Sirius at all, let alone trusted him ever again. "I won't," he only said again.

"Good. I take it that you won't have any more classes for today?"

"Right. No more classes."

"Good. Then, I can leave John to Remus for an hour or two. Tell him I'm going to St Mungo's, but I'll be back as soon as I can and then I'll relieve him of his babysitting duty. And do not give him chocolate." He was already making himself ready to leave.

"Don't give chocolate to whom?" Sirius could not help but ask. "John, or Remus?"

Raymond grinned. "Neither," he said. "Now go. And I warn you, if Madame Pomfrey catches you inside, I'll wash my hands of you."

The plans of letting Angela have visitors a few days ago had failed thanks to a sudden change in her condition and even now, Raymond wasn't sure that Madame Pomfrey would see it fit to let anyone in. For himself, he was sure that the worst was over.

"She won't," Sirius promised. If the school nurse came back from the Headmaster too soon, he'd use James' invisibility cloak to hide his presence.

Angela was awake in her bed. She was alone in a room, so her already infected lungs would not be further damaged by contact with too many people. She was holding a book in her lap, but she wasn't reading. Her eyes were glued to the window, to the forest beyond it, but Sirius was sure it wasn't the forest that she was seeing, either. She was listening to the noise of a school preparing for the final game of the year: Gryffindor against Slytherin. It would start in less than an hour. Her normally olive face was now pale as wax, her eyes sunken, the whites of them having gained a yellowish tinge. Her skin was peeling, her lips dry and bloodied. Judging by the thinness of her arms lying on the cover, she had gone emaciated only in a few days. _All that because of a little calming potion?_ Sirius wondered.

He went to the bed and she looked up at him. Her face was lit by a radiant smile that suddenly made her look almost like her former self. "It was high time you made an appearance, Black."

Even her voce was raspy and brittle. Sirius smiled and sat on the bed. "You look great."

The smile disappeared. She stared at him, hunting for the truth in his face. "Sirius – it isn't possible that I look good."

"I should say so," he answered earnestly. "It's good to be alive."

She nodded slowly. "What happened? Pomfrey and Raymond tell me that I fell off my broom – is it true?"

"Don't you remember?"

She slowly shook her head and again moved her eyes to the window. _Is she trying to avoid looking at me?_ Sirius wondered. _Can she possibly believe that James or I would - ?_

"You know about the potion," he stated.

"Yes."

"Do you think that James did it?"

Angela turned her head and stared at him. Did she believe it? She was not sure. A year ago, she would have denied without thinking twice, but now? Her rivalry with James had changed – on his part! He had started perceiving her like a real enemy – an enemy who was currently better than him on the Quidditch field, someone who occupied too much of his best friend's time and affection. She hadn't thought much about that – she hadn't changed _her_ attitude, but now every scornful glance, every biting remark came back to her, glowering and asking whether she had interpreted them the wrong way. During the last year, James had changed much. The change was for good. But his Quidditch skills had changed for worse – as well as his attitude to the game. Now, when success in this area had started to come easier to her than him, he had started harbouring resentment towards her play – and towards her? Even so, would he _steal_ his victory?

The silence grew longer. "I see," Sirius finally said.

Angela still wouldn't look at him, but he saw her flushing guiltily. "I don't know what to think," she muttered.

Sirius didn't know what to think, either. In those first few moments when he had thought that James had inflicted this on his girlfriend, he had been furious and disappointed; now, knowing that Angela was even entertaining the idea of his best friend being able to cheat so made him feel the same way. He wanted to get out of here, away from her, but he didn't want to be near James right now either, for if the bloody fool had behaved like a normal human being, no one would have even thought of him being the culprit in the first place! He could say that no matter whether Gryffindor won or lose this match – which should have been Ravenclaw's by right, - the mood in the sixth years' dormitory would not be cheerful tonight.

Merlin, the one who had slipped the damned potion to her had much to answer for!

"Remus wanted to stay with you," he said, referring to the time of the match, "but John wouldn't let him out of his sight and _he_ wanted to be nowhere else but there. He can be very – err, willful when he wants to."

During the last few days, Raymond had been busy with Angela's treatment and having failed to find a babysitter, he had become accustomed to bringing his son with him. The little one had lost no time in becoming the Gryffindor common room's darling – everyone wanted to poke him, or play with him, if only for a while. Remus said that John got too much attention and that Raymond and Sylvie would have his – Remus' – head for getting him spoiled, but he spoiled him nonetheless. As a result, the boy had grown bold enough to demand things that he'd never dare with his parents.

Relieved that they had found a safe topic and hoping that they'd be able to deal with the sudden tension between them, she looked at him with a smile in her eyes. "His mother would call it otherwise. So would his father, for that matter. I – "

Suddenly, she felt silent, then frantically waved at him to don the invisibility cloak. Sirius did so even before he heard the voices that had prompted her to warn him. In a few moments, he saw Madame Pomfrey and a young woman he knew by face passing by the room. Happy that Angela was recovering and relieved that he had a plausible excuse to leave the room, he lifted the hood just for a moment, so he could wink at her and blow a kiss, before he made his way as silently as possible at the Quidditch field and the final match of the year. Sadly that even now, mere minutes before the beginning, it could not excite him as it should have. He could practically feel her eyes boring into his invisible back and read her thoughts, _We should have been the ones preparing now, not the Gryffindors._

_

* * *

  
_

_Two hours later…_

_To win at any cost… Well, I won. Why doesn't that make me happy?_

James was in no mood to celebrate with the rest of Gryffindor Quidditch team. True, they had won the House Cup, giving the Slytherins their best play for the year, and yet somehow it was not enough. Not to James.

_I must be mad_, he thought. _Everything is going so fine. Today, I regained my status as one of the best Chasers at Hogwarts, we won the Cup, Angela is getting better, and people don't look at me like I'm a criminal anymore. So why don't I rejoice?_

Everywhere around him, Gryffindors were cheering. For the last few days, the tension hanging in the air had slowly dissipated. What had happened, was in the past. No one had died, thank Merlin! Everyone knew that Angela would leave the infirmary soon. People were forgetful. After all, was it really so important? It had been just a way to manipulate the match. Bad luck that in this particular case, the consequences were more severe than usual. But no one had wanted to harm Angela. The only ones who were still digging in it – unsuccessfully – were the teachers and the Marauders, although their reasons were quite different.

Over the heads of the crowd, James met Sirius' eyes and noticed that his friend did not seem happier than him. He looked at the door, Sirius nodded and poked Remus who was holding John's hand. James took Peter and in a few minutes, all pf them had made their escape from the wild celebration to a quieter place near the lake.

John was chatting excitedly about the match. Well, he was the only one excited. Sirius looked grim, as he usually did after one of his quarrels with Angela, but they surely couldn't have had a row in her sickroom, of all places. _Who am I kidding_, James thought_. Of course they could have. It's Sirius and Angela we're talking about._ And he had an inkling that he wouldn't like to head the reason for this particular argument. About him – he was not pleased with himself for, well, not being pleased with the game. He had played his best this year, but he knew that he had played in another's stead. The match should have been Ravenclaw's.

"Congratulations!"

He looked up and felt himself smile at the nice surprise. "Emma! What are you doing here?"

His older cousin had graduated a few years ago, so her presence here was quite unexpected. He hadn't seen her in almost a year and he was stricken at how unwell she looked – thin and tired. He remembered his mother mentioning something about Emma's marital troubles, but he hadn't given it much thought. Now he wished he had.

"I had to do something here and then I stayed to watch the match." She grinned at him. "You were incredible. No competition!"

He bowed dramatically. Hers was one of the very few phrases that he could accept without feeling awkward. Emma had no idea of what had happened about a week ago. She was simply being honest.

"And these are your friends," she said. "I remember them from my last year." She looked at the three boys and then her smile slowly disappeared.

She had never seen the little boy who was now watching her curiously, but there was no doubt in her mind who he was. He was the spitting image of Raymond, it was just uncanny. She felt like someone had just stabbed her right in her heart. Just an hour ago, Madame Pomfrey had confirmed what a number of other healers had been telling her for two years now – that she had no fertility problems. But when she tried to explain that to her husband, he would get angry and refuse listening to her. Emma had reached the conclusion that he just couldn't reconcile himself with the fact that their childlessness might be due to him and not her. And that meant that she would not have the child she so wanted.

_He should have been mine. _

How different her life would have been if she had been strong enough to defy her parents who told her that the Lupin boy was not worthy of her – too poor, not perspective enough. They felt that she deserved better. _Take that, Mum and Dad, _Emma thought with sudden anger._ The Lupin boy did well by himself. He is perspective, people say that he'd be one of the most prominent healers in Britain, if not Europe. Aren't you sorry for pressing me again and again into breaking it up with him?_ If she had been strong enough, would she have been the mother of this little boy? Her own mother was dropping hints that she wanted grandchildren, but how was Emma expected to produce them when the husband approved by her parents refused to play his part? He preferred accusing her than actually doing something about the problem.

She sat on the grass next to the boys and all of them started chatting about the match. Being able to someone who didn't know about the sabotage and was therefore unbiased made it easier for the Marauders to discuss Quidditch-related matters more freely and the spirits lifted.

Until Raymond came to check on his son, that was it. He had just come from Hogsmeade, accompanied by a man neither of them knew – a Muggle, they would have thought by his clothes, but his wand showed them that he wasn't. John gave a yelp and was about to throw himself at the stranger, but his father's warning glance stopped him.

"Hello, everyone," Raymond said. "What happened with the match?'

"We won!" John yelled. "Daddy, we won!"

"Really?" Raymond smiled. "Congratulations," he told James. Then, he turned to Emma. "Hi, Emma. Long time, no see. I hope you're well?"

"Very well, thank you," she said through clenched teeth. He didn't seem at all moved to meet her, he wasn't even irritated! She had known that he had moved over her, but it was still a wound to her pride that he might be so casually indifferent when she herself was so shocked. Of course, there was a reason for that and it was that Raymond was happy with his wife, everyone said so. "I hear that you've got a reason for celebration. Congratulations."

He nodded. He knew that she was referring to Sylvie's second pregnancy. He felt a little sorry for her – it was a well kept secret in society, but well, in St Mungo there were no real secrets. He knew about her tours with healers who consulted her about fertility issues when she obviously had none. Under these circumstances, she would hardly be delighted to hear that an ex of hers was about to become a father for a second time. Her next words, however, put an end to his sympathy. "I hope everything is all right? I hear that Sylvie is a bleeder. A family issue, people say."

He paled. The boys sat shocked by her sudden vulgarity. John made the best of his father's drop of attention and threw himself at the stranger, chattering excitedly in French. The young man – maybe a few years older than Raymond – smiled at him, but did not pick him up, as Remus would have done. Instead, he bent down to him and for a moment, his face contorted in pain. After a few words, he stood up and decided to break the shocked tension. "Hey," he said in English, surprisingly, without any accent. "Aren't you going to introduce me, Raymond?"

"Yes." Raymond had collected himself. "This is Sylvie's brother. Philippe, meet Mrs Emma West."

"Philippe Saint Claire," the Frenchman said and smiled at her, although quite ironically. "But you can call me 'the bleeder'."

She blushed, hearing the echo of her own ugly words.

John started pulling Philippe's sleeve during the next introductions. "Did you bring Grandmere with you?" he asked. "And Vanessa?"

Philippe looked at him, looking helpless. John sighed irritated. "Why don't you understand English with me, but you understand it with my Daddy?" he complained in French.

"That's right," Philippe confirmed. "I don't understand English with you."

He looked at his watch. "We must go," he told Raymond. "John is going to give me a tour through the zoo," he explained to the others. The boy whooped with delight. "I'm here for a few days on business and I think of making up with John for the lost time. I'll bring him home at about six o'clock," he told Raymond.

"All right. Then you'll stay with us for dinner."

After this, the group dissolved. James went to see Emma off to Hogsmeade, where she could make her Apparition. Sirius said he was going to visit Angela and Peter went to the library to study for the tomorrow Charms test. After a few minutes of small chat, Philippe took John by the hand and led him away. Remus and his brother were left alone.

"Well," Raymond said, "I'll go to see Madame Pomfrey and if everything is all right, I'll go back to St. Mungo's."

"Wait!"

There was no trace of joy left in Remus' face. Raymond sighed. "What is it?"

"She meant it literally, didn't she?" Remus asked. "Emma," he clarified. "The others thought she was just being rude about the whole bleeder thing, that she meant is simply as an insulting word, but it's true, isn't it? In Sylvie's family, they do bleed."

"Not so loud!" Raymond hissed and looked around.

Remus nodded, looking at Philippe and John's retreating backs. "John has told me stories how his uncle Philippe would scratch himself and wouldn't stop bleeding, but I'm afraid I just thought he was exaggerating. But there were some hints in the newspapers about the family and when I saw Philippe now -" He paused. "It must be some sort of disease," he said. "And they have it."

For a while, Raymond was silent. "Muggles call it 'haemophilia'," he finally said, very softly. "It's a blood disorder. It impairs the body's ability to control blood clotting. John was right to tell you that Philippe wouldn't stop bleeding when injured, but he's too young to understand anything beyond what he sees. The real danger is the internal bleeding that he can't see. Mostly the bleeding around the joints that has finally started to deform them. Thank Merlin, nowadays people rarely die from it, no matter how excruciating it might be. Once, they were lucky if they survived to adulthood. And yes, Emma was right, although I doubt she knew what she was talking about. Very few people in our world are aware of the nature of this disease. She was just trying to sting me, repeating some gossip without realizing that there's more to it than a juicy chit-chat, but yes, it's a hereditary disorder and many people in Sylvie's family have it. She herself carries it."

Remus stared. "But Sylvie is perfectly healthy!"

"Yes. Women do not suffer from this thing. They just inherit it and pass it onto their male children." His voice was level, but he seemed actually relieved to be able to share it with someone.

"You mean that John - ?" Remus shook his head. "I don't believe it."

"And you shouldn't. He doesn't have it. The chances are equal that a son may or may not inherit it from his mother. We were lucky. If John had had it, it would have already made itself apparent."

Remus sighed, relieved. "And what about the baby?" he asked again.

Raymond shrugged. "No idea as of yet. If it's a boy, he may or may not have it. If it's a girl, she may or may not inherit the chance to transmit it to her children. It's a matter of chance. For example, Philippe got it, but his brother didn't. We simply don't know what will happen."

A casual observer could think that Raymond did not really care about what would happen to his baby – he was explaining so calmly. But his blue eyes told an entirely different tale.

"How do you know that Sylvie carries it?" Remus insisted.

"Muggles have tests for these things. She carries it, no doubt about that. She and her sister both. And Margo already has a boy afflicted." He fell silent, because really, what could he say? Describe Sylvie's fears for the baby or her feeling of guilt to her sister, because so far she had been lucky while Margo hadn't? Remus had had enough bad things in his life. These were Raymond's.

"And there is no cure for it?"

Raymond shook his head. "No. No cure. Just treatment of the symptoms." He hesitated. "Please, don't tell Mum and Dad. We don't want them to know. For now, at least."

Remus slowly nodded. "I won't," he promised. Suddenly, he wondered how many thing were there that he didn't know about his brother. He even felt a little insulted that Raymond had not confided in him, but really, it was something that concerned just his brother and Sylvie.

"I must go," Raymond said. "Will you walk with me to the infirmary?"

Remus stood up. "Let's go."

James Potter watched them go beneath his invisibility cloak, his intention to snoop on Lily Evans completely forgotten. He slowly turned to look at the castle and suddenly he saw it not like the home it had been for him for six year now, but as a shelter against the real world. So much had happened for these last weeks. Real world was a scary place and he was sitting here, playing grown-up, but safely ensconced in the shelter of his happy family, his friends' circle, his school life. He could hardly believe that not so long ago, he had been thinking of a stupid school game as something that he should win at any cost.


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer: I don't own HP._

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed, you give me real inspiration.**

Chapter 4

_A week later…_

"So, will you go there with me?"

Lily Evans gave him a look that could make a stone cry. A stone, yes, but not James Potter. After all, he was quite accustomed to this attitude.

"Going there with you?" she said. "And what makes you think I'd have any wish to go somewhere to watch men trying to maim one another with curses and calling it a sport?"

That was rich, even for her. Not that James was especially surprised, for he had learned always to expect the unexpected of her, but Marlene McKinnon and Anne Rogers who had been snickering at their favourite entertainment – Lily scowling at James – were now agape.

"You do realize it's the finals of the World Cup for Magical Dueling that you're talking about, don't you?" James asked calmly.

She huffed. "I'll never know why this stuff should have a World Cup of its own."

There was a crowd gathering around them and some were gaping, aghast, while others were sniggering and cheering, like 'You're going well, girl! Teach him a lesson!' James paid no attention to either.

"So, am I to understand that you won't come with me?"

She didn't dignify him with an answer. Then, a new voice cut in, "Maybe you will be willing to take me instead, Potter?"

Everyone turned. Angela Peters was smiling broadly, almost beaming. She looked on the top of her beauty and good health – not washed out at all, her dark eyes shining, her black hair full of sun, her complexion smooth and healthy. No one had heard that she was going out of infirmary today and there was a commotion that Lily used to sneak out of James' sight. He only sighed. Would it always be like this? Would she forever avoid and make fun of him?

Sirius only gaped at his girlfriend, who smiled sweetly at him and tossed her hair at one side, as if encouraging him to come to her. Had she just asked Prongs to a date? _Prongs_, of all people?

To make it worse, James only beamed back. "Of course, Peters. We're leaving on Friday, going back on Sunday. Sunday evening," he elaborated. Angela smiled again and took him by the hand. "We can work out the details on our way to Charms," she said.

"Yes, that we will," James agreed and led her down the hall. Sirius stared after them and thought how wonderful James would look with a torn out hair. It was too messy, anyway!

The whispers started anew. Remus motioned at Sirius with his head. "Come on, Padfoot, let's go," he said.

Sirius obediently followed him, trying to maintain a cool face for their classmates. However, his self-control was short-lived: as soon as they turned at the corner, he hissed, "I'm so going to kill her!"

Remus and Peter shared a tired glance. What a wonderful day lay ahead of them – Angela punishing Sirius for something that they didn't know what it was (well, Remus suspected that he had some idea), James trying to pretend that he did not care at all for Lily flat out refusing him again, and Sirius being too thick-skulled to realize what was going on! _With friends like these, who needs enemies_, the young werewolf thought sourly.

"No, you won't," he said patiently.

"Oh yes, I will. And James will follow suit."

"Really? When people have just started talking that no, maybe there was no Gryffindor sabotage and things would finally calm down, so one can breathe in this school again?"

Remus rarely allowed himself such a harsh tone and it was the rarity of it that made Sirius cool down immediately. "What?" he asked tamely, feeling like a chastised child.

"You really don't understand?" Remus asked disbelievingly. "She was just implementing in the heads of those watching that there was no rift between her and James, that she doesn't think he tried to foul her and that, in short, there is no reason for Ravenclaw to hold a grudge against him."

"Oh." Now, Sirius felt not only like a chastised child, but a stupid one at that. Was it so simple? Of course it was. Even Peter had realized it – well before Sirius. And yet –

"Well, there was no need for her to make it sound like she was asking him to a _date_," he growled, but not quite with the same rage as before.

Remus suddenly concentrated on the staircase beneath their feet, as if he'd never seen such a thing in his life. "Come on," he said, "Flitwick will have a fit if we are late again."

This time, it was Sirius and Peter who looked at each other. "I have no idea what's going on either," Peter silently mouthed.

"Moony," Sirius said, "Flitwick in a fit is always an amusing sight. We love Flitwick in a fit."

"Yes," Remus muttered and quickened his pace.

Unfortunately, Sirius merely did the same. "Moony, I want to talk."

"Go on," Remus said reluctantly.

"So, why is Angela behaving like this? And why wasn't I told that she'd be released today?"

Again, that heavy sigh. "Maybe she has learned that you neglected to tell her that Benwick Cursor came to offer James a place in his team?"

For a moment, Sirius shut his eyes completely. Yes, that tiny bit of information might just have done the trick. "And how did she learn about that?" he asked in admirably level voice.

Remus was still refusing to look at him. "Err, I might have mentioned it?"

_I thought so._ "You are an idiot, Moony."

He could bet that his friend agreed, but Remus would not admit it aloud. "And how was I supposed to know that you would have omitted _that_?"

"Easily," Sirius snapped, his voice not so level now. "Only an idiot wouldn't have thought that it was neither the time nor the place for her to get to know that her rival has been offered a place in a team like _Fierce Brooms_."

"And only an idiot would – " Remus started, then snapped his mouth shut, because they had reached the Charms classroom. He did not want to give their classmates yet another thing to talk about. The buzz was already high enough.

Sirius took advantage of the fact that people were watching them and went to sit next to Angela. "Are you angry with me?" he asked in a low voice, smiling for the sake of the spectators.

"Yes, I am," she confirmed and smiled sweetly (of course she wouldn't want to spoil the impression of young love). "How could you not tell me? Did you really think I wouldn't learn?"

"I knew you'd learn."

"Then why?"

"You were so ill, I thought there'd be time – "

"Yes?" she encouraged him. "Go on! You thought there'd be time for me to learn that Benwick Cursor had come to see what was supposed to be my match and made a proposal that should have been addressed to me?"

"Frankly, yes."

"Go to hell," she hissed and stroked his hand, trying her best enamoured look.

"Well, _I_ didn't make the bloody proposal," Sirius whispered back. James was the one receiving the stupid thing – not that it was really stupid, of course, - yet James got smiles and invitations to something like a date, while all Sirius got was the bad mood_? Girls are hard to understand,_ he thought. _Give me Slytherins any time._

_

* * *

  
_

_Four days later…_

_"__And then the tyrant Armentier said, 'No. There won't be any wedding night. As soon as the wedding ceremony ends, the bridegroom is to forget his beautiful wife, go to the Portkey and think only about the tournament in Madrid. Armentier is a coach, not a driveller of a humanitarian.' The sponsor, Magda Tieri, took this resolution as a strike against the future family memories. Finally, a compromise was reached, even if it was hard. The young family, consisting of one of the most beautiful women in the world, Vivienne the Veela, and the great hope of the French dueling world and already an European champion. Dominic Montresorre, was allowed to lie down for a while. The wild wedding night went on exactly till six o'clock in the morning. Moments after that, a sleepy Portkey for Spain was activated and the bridegroom entered the lonely start of his long marital life__." _

Sirius laughed. James stopped reading and grinned. Peter caught his eyes and led them to the entrance of the hotel that they were in, _Fierce Furies_, where a dark-haired man was just going in. "It's him," he mouthed, 'isn't it?"

"Yes," Sirius and Angela confirmed. There was no mistaking that dark hair and the face that always looked lit by some inner fire. One of the most famous faces in the wizarding world. "He doesn't look concerned at all," Sirius commented. "He must be feeling very confident that his son is going to win."

Angela looked pensive. "I am not quite sure," she said. While her boyfriend had paid attention to the energy and the confident face of the man in front of them, she had noticed some other details – a brief shutting of his eyes, a hand clutching the wand so tightly that the knuckles had gone white –

But he would come around. He always did. Everyone knew that.

For decades this man, the passionate and striking Dominic Montresorre had been one of the most glorified and maligned wizards in Europe. Now, seeing him here in flesh and blood, coming for yet another competition, the newspapers were having their field day, reviving yet again the numerous stories about his adventures in the tournaments, about his audacity in his private life, about his love story. How he was one of Grindelwald greatest favourites, his pet – a pureblood with unmatched dueling skills and how he had stood against him, refusing to do his bidding, and how he had to flee for his life, climbing down the tower that Grindelwald had imprisoned him in on a rope that he had made from his sheets and walking thirty miles in a howling snow-storm to leave his mother's country of Poland where Grindelwald's power was undisputed. How he transferred to Hogwarts in his fourth year and revived the dueling club almost single-handedly. How he worked without rest to complete both his education and his dueling training, becoming European Champion at seventeen. How, at being asked right after his fantastic victory whether he suffered from the bleeding disease that had already taken a few of his relatives, he silently aimed a cutting spell at his own chest to make it perfectly clear how little truth these rumours held. How after his graduation he went traveling and at his return, he brought that Veela with him – a fabulous beauty, a single mother with a baby boy. How he lived with her openly, instead of stashing her somewhere and visiting discreetly. How his father told him that if he married her, he'd find himself exiled from the family. How he supported his wife and a growing number of children with only one thing – his wand. How he won the World Cup seven times, against some of the legends of this sport, thus becoming a legend himself. How for twelve years he did not set a foot in his parents' house and how his father finally gave a large reception to celebrate their reconcilement and in front of the most ancient pureblood families in France, he took Vivienne's hand and announced, "This is my son's wife. I'd like to propose a toast to her." How after winning yet another European Championship, he took the golden medal off his chest and gave it to his last rival, saying that he did not need the referee tolerating his mistakes and that he wanted only the medals that were really his own. How after retiring he started training fantastic duelers, among them his own sons. How, after one of his competitors had almost lost in a tournament in Prague and he found the leader of their group scolding the boy for his mistakes, he blazed unseemly, without any restraint, stating that he didn't let anyone come near his competitors during a tournament, asking who had let him come and all in all, being incredibly rude. His boss only stared and him and barely managed to spit, "Do you really think I have no right?" "Yes, I really do. You have the right to sack me in two days, after our return to Paris. Here, you have no rights regarding the duelists during a tournament. Only I have the right. No one else." But the most amazing thing was that his boss kept quiet. Montresorre was not been punished. How his wife Vivienne started taking younger lovers who all adored her thanks to her incomparable beauty. How he, on his part, cheated on her with many women, but especially with one and how Vivienne tried to kill his beautiful lover, her friend Magda. How the glory of his achievements finally made him think that he and his team were the best, thus neglecting their training and falling out of grace. And how only two months ago he surprisingly made a shocking return to heights – his son won the National Championship in France. His son, who no one seemed to know. The French press was strangely silent about the new champion – it was all like 'oh he's fine, he's all right' – and since his arrival here, the young man had made appearances only for the matches which he invariably won. But he would not win the last one.

They had come here to see it _not_ happening.

. James' father had managed to provide five tickets for this upcoming final match of the World Championship. True, it was not a Quidditch final, but yet – a World Championship! And it would be a Brit competing against a Frenchman in this final match – or rather, raze him to the ground, they all hoped and expected. The fight had been long and hard and knowing how excited his students were about the forthcoming match, Dumbledore had agreed to let them go to London for the weekend, so they could watch the game. The French had dominated the tournaments for so long that everyone wanted to see their dominance broken once again. There was no doubt that it would happen – what chances did a young upstart have against a fivefold European champion? His father might have stood those, despite being much older, but not he.

Angela looked irritated. "I wish they'd leave him alone," she said. "Dominic Montresorre, I mean. What do they want? He is not the one competing; he isn't the star. Why should they dwell in all these past stories? I am sure that half of them aren't even true!"

Sirius wanted to tell her that she was being naïve. Indeed, she was. For someone this smart, his girlfriend could be incredibly stupid sometimes. Didn't she know that these were the rules of the game? If Montresorre didn't want to be talked about, then maybe he shouldn't have stepped so high in the first place. But once having done so, he had condemned himself to always be food for gossip. Of course, having grown up in a nice mediocre family, Angela was a world away from these elegant and cynical ways of the high society. Sometimes, Sirius felt years older and more mature than his girlfriend and his friends, even Remus. These were the ways of the distinguished pureblood society. They could not be changed. Did his friends have any idea about the rumours of what was hidden behind the sports victories? The stories about teachers and coaches beating their contestants, who were usually minors, with and without magic, forcing them to train without rest? Most wizards tended to disregard them as overstatements, but Sirius was not so sure. He remembered some of the famous guests at Grimmauld Place 12, who were convinced that victory was enough to justify everything. To win at any cost.

"Why are you saying this?" Peter turned to Angela. "Do you know something that we don't?" he asked, referring to the last year that she had spent at Beauxbatons as an exchange student.

The girl shrugged and looked around. The little hotel café was overcrowded, as were the other places of amusement and the streets. There were people everywhere, excited about the finals, waiting for yet another victory. Godwinson was smiling at them from the placards, the robes of the young fans, the little flags and streamers – everywhere.

Angela sipped at her cappuccino. "I know him," she said reluctantly. "I met him during the summer. His daughter, Isabelle, is in our year and we became fast friends." She shrugged. "They're a bit strange – Dominic and the other duelists from the family. Way too concentrated. But otherwise, they're pretty much okay. They aren't this special or anything. And I'm sure that the things they write about the rivalry within the family are overstretched. They might be rivals, but they are not enemies. And these rumours about the relationship between him and his wife – they're downright lies. I'd like to have such relationship with my husband after twenty years of marriage."

Sirius glanced at her to make sure that she didn't mean anything by that. She grinned. "Don't worry, love. I still haven't started choosing the flowers for the wedding."

"Sirius looks a little green," James commented and Sirius growled. The others laughed at him.

On the outside, everything looked normal: Angela recovered, James free of any suspicion, Sirius being Angela's boyfriend again. And indeed it was. Yet, the rupture was still there, raw and ready to bleed at the slightest of touches: James was still unhappy that people would even consider the possibility of him stealing his victory, feeling that somehow Sirius blamed him for his girlfriend's distress, if not for messing her drink, Angela instinctively terrified to taste anything that had not been prepared in front of her and unsure where Sirius' loyalties lay first – with her or James, Sirius torn between the two of them, Remus and Peter trying to keep the situation in check. Something between them had broken, maybe irreversibly. Maybe until they found the culprit, it would be too late.

Suddenly, between the people who were streaming into the hotel, James noticed Benwick Cursor. He was on his feet before he realized what he was doing. He only knew that if Cursor came to him and start asking him about accepting or not accepting his invitation to join his Quidditch team, which he obviously intended to, everything would become an even bigger mess. He still didn't know whether Angela had forgiven him or not. He suspected that she hadn't.

So he escaped, muttering some lame excuse about going to the loo. One look at the corner told him that Cursor was following him. He sped away, fully realizing how ridiculous the whole thing was: here he was, the captain of the Gryffindor team, hiding from the man who was trying to offer him the fulfillment of his boyish dream: the professional Quidditch –It was really funny. No, it was not funny at all.

After a few minutes of running, climbing up and down various stairs, skulking and looking back to make sure that he wasn't followed, he realized that now he had another problem: he had no idea where he was. All he knew was that he was still in the _Fierce Furies_, but the floor and the wing – he had no idea about them. _I can't believe it, _he thought_. These things do not happen to grown-ups. _Yet, it had happened to him.

He was not sure what to make out of Cursor's proposal. True, for so long Quidditch had been an integral part of his life, but did he really want to play for a living? How was he to know that he wouldn't come to hate it as much as he hated Arithmancy, if it turned to obligation? He could not be sure. And the manager of the _Fierce Brooms_ was not helping either, with his fixation on making him promise that as soon as he graduated – He had even gone to James' parents to discuss it with them. They had basically told him to leave them alone and that the decision should be James' alone.

"You're too harsh on him."

"I cannot stand him!"

"Come on, you know he didn't do it on purpose – "

James recognized Raymond's voice before Remus' brother came into view. Raymond sent him a brief smile and continued his way down the hall, accompanied by none other than the man who had made the headlines in all gossiping magazines. Dominic Montresorre. He looked so livid that James did his best to stand out of his way. Not that Montresorre noticed him, he was too consumed by his anger.

"Oh? And what does it _change_? To come all the way to Britain, to reach the finals, to feel ten thousand spectators looking at him, to finally believe in himself and then to let this oaf of a dueller injure his hand! Of course he didn't do it on purpose! And what of it?"

"It was Lopez' fault – " Raymond was still trying to calm him down.

"No, it was Michel's! He knew that sometimes, Lopez' spells are too strong and break the defense that is supposed to keep the participants from harm. And what does he do? He goes and lets him do to him exactly what everyone had told him how to avoid! I am furious. And I cannot stand him."

_Oh_, James thought. _So, Michel Montresorre was hurt in his last duel, despite winning it_. He was not surprised that the press knew nothing about it. These guys lived on people's misfortunes and bad luck. It was bad enough that everyone predicted the inevitable victory of the British competitor. The last thing Montresorre needed was information to leak about his injury. Anyway, James was disgusted by Dominic's behavior. One would say that he had talked about a dangerous criminal, not his own son. Was his yearning for a victory so strong to make him forget the basic human feelings? Could sport in real life be something this ugly?


	5. Chapter 5

_Disclaimer: Harry Potter? Not mine._

**As always, thanks to everyone who reviewed.**

Chapter 5

_Later in the afternoon…_

"So, did you escape him?"

Angela was smiling. She looked radiant, in good mood, not angry at all and James relaxed as he came nearer. "I did not ask him to invite me on the team, Angela," he said softly, seriously.

She smiled again. "I know you didn't," she said. "Sit down and have a coffee. I'm coming back in a minute."

Sirius and Peter gave her retreating back a look that was definitely relieved, while Remus fidgeted nervously. James knew what that meant. Sighing, he addressed Sirius, "What did you guys do that she didn't approve of?"

It had to be that. Sometimes Sirius and Peter could be incredibly childish and Angela had to act rather like a stern mother than a girlfriend to one of them.

Sirius grinned, pointed his wand from under the table – for of course, they were all minors and had to do magic as discreetly as possible, since they weren't allowed to – and whispered the spell for overhearing that they had invented the year before, directing it at a group of the most secluded tables.

James scowled. "Aren't you too old for this?" he asked. A year ago, it might have sounded like a fine idea to him, too, but now things were different. Sometimes, he wondered how a smart and mature girl like Angela could put up with someone who simply refused to grow up.

Sirius looked at him as if he had just been betrayed. "Not you too! Empress already gave us this lecture," he said, using James' nickname for Angela. James chuckled, thinking that he'd hit the core: Sirius did what Angela said. He might growl and grumble, but he did it anyway. At least, when she was there. This empress needed a very tight leash to hold this particular dog in check.

"And who are the unfortunate guys whose conversation you're trying to overhear?" he asked.

Peter nodded at one of the tables. "It's Amory, Montresorre and Serrano," he whispered. "They look so amiable – "

For a moment, James did not understand. Then, he remembered. George Amory was the reigning European champion, while the two Frenchmen had been his rivals for many years. True, they were reported to have a certain professional respect to one another, to be at good terms, but seeing them like that, drinking coffee and chatting was… unnatural. It was like James being friends with the captain of the Slytherin team!

While he was still trying to overcome his surprise, Amory's voice came and it was not chatty at all. It was very serious. "Now, guys, what's going on? I was present at your national championship and it was beyond any belief. Have all the referees gone mad or what?"

"Oh they are not mad," one of the other two answered caustically. "They knew what they were doing."

"Why did you accept these insulting results as being real? Why didn't you fight for your places in the team? I mean, no offense to your brother, Alain, he surely is very good and has a bright future ahead of him and the same goes for the other boy, but… they are still boys. What was everyone thinking, sending _children_ here instead of experienced duelists like yourselves? I am sure that had you wanted it, you could have blown them away."

"And who would have admitted that we had? You were there; you saw what happened. No matter how we performed, the scores were insultingly low. They just wanted to make Lavault a national champion, thus forcing my father to include him for this competition."

Silence. Then, "Who is Lavault?'

"The cautious one."

This time, Amory's memory served him faster. "Ah yes. But… why? He was not prepared enough!"

"He wasn't. But he had one great advantage. My father did not coach him."

This had to be Alain Montresorre, a fine duelist but almost never a champion. Yet it seemed that Amory thought he fully deserved to be one. The five-times European champion would know, wouldn't he? And what kind of advantage was that, not being trained by the head coach? Things were getting really interesting and James decided that if he wanted to go to into professional sports, he'd better get some knowledge about its nasty sides. These guys were the perfect source of information: a respected champion and two players who had retired, so they had no reason to be diplomatic and shilly-shallying. He told himself that he wasn't eavesdropping just for the pleasure of it. He was just gaining information. So, he went on listening.

"That was the national championship in a nutshell," Serrano said. "Our coaches and referees have long ago confronted Dominic. They say that he takes into the national team only guys who he has trained himself. But really, what else can he do? At the competitions, his boys just get the highest results. The others have just the same chances as him to prepare competitors who can defeat his and make it into the team. But they don't do it. They simply can't, it seems. So Dominic is guilty for being too good in his job. What should he do, take guys who are not prepared?"

"Well, that's just what he did, after all," Alain reminded his former team-mate. "He subsided to their pressure," he explained to Amory, "and took Lavault, who has been coached by another. He is really talented, but he is not prepared enough. Not yet. Father could not make him our equal in a few months. But our coaches and referees decided that he should be into the trio coming for the World Championship. And my father could hardly refuse to include the national champion now, could he? Lavault was told that all he needed was not to make any bad mistakes, and he was as cautious as they come. Even so, Pierre here hit him a few times which would be enough to strike him unconscious, if it was for real. Yet, the referees just pretended not to see. I could hardly believe it."

"But he did not become champion."

That was met with a burst of laughter, the mood considerably lightening. "Did you saw how the little one upset their plans? Did you? Michel! They had not taken this one into account."

"And neither have I," Amory admitted.

_Accounts_, James thought. _If dueling can be turned into accounts, can the same thing happen to Quidditch_?

"Dominic was careful not to show him too much," Serrano said. "Another one of his most talented competitors… and another one of his own sons. Everyone would have said it was too much. They would have crushed the kid before he even had the chance to become a name. So his father never let him compete with any star players. And he was right, you saw. While the referees were trimming our scores - they didn't dare to do it to Dubois, he was a recent winner into an important international competition, - Michel climbed up. They constantly scored the two of us lower, did some justice to Reynald, placed Lavault disgracefully high and overlooked Michel because they just hadn't thought about him at all. Little Michel came, competed, and was shocked, along with everyone else, to find himself a national champion. We placed fourth and fifth."

"And the two of you could not take it any longer."

"Things have been getting bad since Lucien died," Alain said, voice suddenly cold. "You, of all people, should know that." Then, his voice became softer. "I'm trying to understand Lavault, too. He was under enormous pressure that he should win. But well, it doesn't work this way."

And James was suddenly reminded of his own position in the Quidditch team. Had he been under pressure that he should win at any cost? Yes, he had. It had been both spoken and unspoken. No wonder that he had become obsessed. Yet, that was no excuse for letting himself be influenced this much. A wave of relief came through him: no matter how desperately he had wanted to win, he had not even thought of mean tricks for disqualifying his rivals. On the other hand, this Frenchman, this Lavault might have not thought about playing dishonestly either. He might have very well been forced into doing it by the very same people his future depended on. What would have James done if it had been his future on the stake, and not just a school game?

"I expect that no matter what happens tomorrow, your little brother and Reynald Dubois will be giving us much trouble in the years to come," Amory said. "God bless them, without such competition we are stuck. We'll start to think that we are the best and unrivalled and that'll be the end of it – "

Stunned, James thought about the difference between him and these guys. Was he grown enough to be a professional competitor at anything? True, he would never do anything to harm a member of a rivaling team, but was that enough? He felt as if he was just not mature enough, that he had yet some growing up to do. True, he had the talent, but did he have the right attitude? He was not sure. All he knew was that he wanted Cursor to leave him alone for a while, let him think. He really hoped that he wouldn't bump into him again any time soon.

_Later the same night…_

For these two days, the boys had decided to stay at Remus' place. Since his parents were abroad, they had the whole house at their disposal and they made the best of it, staying up late and drinking Firewhiskey. James woke up just after midnight, only to see Sirius leaving the room – and the house. He realized that Padfoot had been the one to wake him up – he was as quiet as a dancing troll.

No one else in the house moved. James was pretty sure he knew where Sirius had gone – Angela lived nearby and the two of them were probably having a midnight date. Unfortunately, James had no date, no chance of soon having one – Lily's attitude had not changed – and no chance of falling asleep again, so he just went to the kitchen for something to drink. He had to admit that despite not being into dueling, he was really excited about the big day tomorrow. He had never watched a World Championship, but after the overheard conversation, he was starting to doubt that it was so different from school games. At least, some people who had say in it were just as bad as Slytherins and far more dangerous.

A sudden movement from the door made him reach for his wand that was not in his pocket but on the nightstand in the guest room. Anyway, it was just Raymond carrying a vial.

"What are you doing here?" James asked. Remus' brother had an apartment of his own and midnight was a strange time for visits.

"Just wanted to leave this," Raymond explained. "I might not see Remus tomorrow and I want him to drink it the day before the transformation. That's Tuesday."

James nodded. "I'll tell him."

"Is Cursor still chasing you?"

"What do you know about this?"

"What Remus tells me. So what? Does he?"

"He does."

Raymond was still standing near the table, not sitting down, but not going out either.

"And?"

"And what?"

"Are you going to accept his proposal?"

"I am not sure."

He might be wrong, but he thought that he had seen Raymond relax slightly. "Raymond?"

"Yes?"

"Is he really this hard? This Dominic Montresorre. I know you're married into this family, so you know them. Today he was so cold, so uncaring."

Raymond looked him up and down, then opened two butterbeers and raised his eyebrows at the sight of four dirty glasses and an almost empty bottle of firewhiskey. James blushed, but decided that he wouldn't give explanations. Raymond was no one, to demand answers from him. He might reproach Remus as much as he wanted to.

"He is just angry that Michel might have injured his chances by a single stupid mistake," he said. "He's also worried because it's his son who is in pain. And he's a bundle of nerves right now, before the final competition, so he's overreacting. People tend to do this."

"Is it true that the national championship in France was a joke?"

"Who told you this?"

James blushed again, but there was no way he was telling Raymond that they had been eavesdropping on a private conversation.

"Doesn't matter. Is it true?"

"Yes, it is. But Alain was going to drop off anyway, joke or not. He already stopped competing once, after his eldest brother died, and he was never liked by the referees anyway. Acting too much like a Muggle, they say, playing with his body as much as his wand. Personally I, as a healer, saw no difference: his rivals can scarcely touch him and his spells hit them all the same, no matter how Muggle-like he moves his hand. But that's only me." He fell silent. "I didn't know them back then, but Sylvie says Alain was never the same after Lucien died."

"Is it true that he killed him? Because Lucien was the better competitor?"

Raymond snorted and drank from his bottle. "Merlin, sometimes I forget how sheltered you guys are there, at Hogwarts. You have no idea of what's going on in the real world, do you? For you, sports is all glamour and cups, life is being appreciated only by what you can and do and so on. Death Eaters and killings, and the one who calls himself Lord Voldemort are just stories, right? No, kid, Alain didn't kill his brother out of envy. He killed him because after a fight with Death Eaters outnumbering them seven to one Lucien was mortally wounded and suffering. He would have died anyway, but slowly, in days. Alain just saved him from the agony. But that did not make a story nearly as attractive for the newspapers, so they happily pounced on the well known fact that in competition, Lucien almost always placed better than Alain. And Alain's nervous breakdown afterwards was taken as guilty conscience. It really was, in a way. Such a thing cannot come and go without affecting you for life." He sighed. "That's the real life, James. That's the world you will have to enter as soon as you leave Hogwarts. It'll be hard for Remus, him most of all, but all of you will have to part with some dreams and illusions. It can be hard. I know what I'm talking about. And it will be even harder for you than it was for me, because when I graduated, Voldemort and his Death Eaters were just beginning to gain strength. Now, they have it."

James shivered, feeling suddenly cold. Was Raymond trying to scare him? No, he was just being honest. The idea of professional Quidditch, of doing something familiar in this brave new world suddenly seemed more attractive. He drank from his butterbeer, trying to get a hold of himself. "Do you think I should go into Quidditch?" he asked. "For a living, I think."

Raymond did not hesitate. "No."

"Why?"

"Because you'll want to be the best and you simply aren't the champion sort."

James blinked. He had not expected such a quick and brutal answer. "And Michel Montresorre is, isn't he?" he asked sharply. He had learned from Angela that two of the French competitors – the one who had become number three in the world the day before and the one who would fight for the world title were sixth years at Beauxbatons, hard-working, devoted and… not too good at Charms.

Raymond wearily shook his head. He was dying for sleep, he had been overworking himself for days. Why was he sitting here, having this discussion?

Because he liked the boy, that was why. And because the next day, James would have to learn a harsh truth that Raymond felt he was totally unprepared for.

"Do you see what I mean? You ask a question and then you bristle with anger because you don't like the answer. You aren't used to fight for being the best, James. You simply accept that you are. No, I am not saying it accusingly. At this stage of life, you cannot be anything else. Blame it on your parents. Blame it on your upbringing. Of course, I know that right now, you're blaming me."

James cringed back. He did not like where this conversation was going, but he could not go back now. He would not leave Raymond win this. His pride could not allow it. "My parents? What about them?"

"They were quite elderly when you were born, they had no other children and they lavished attention on you. More attention than what was good for you."

James' bottle rattled on the table. "Like you are the one to talk about spoiling! You always try to find someone to foist John upon – "

Raymond was absolutely calm. "You are right, of course. Sometimes, I go to the other extreme and I know that I may look like a careless father, because I haven't been looking forward for years for my child's arrival. He just came between the other things, as he was expected to… although I'll admit that he wasn't planned to arrive this early. Anyway, what I mean is that as a child, anything you wanted, you got… at least, for the most part. Your parents and grandparents treated you as if you were magnificent, because you were their pride and joy. It was the same with Emma, although to a lesser extent. Then you came to Hogwarts and you immediately became popular. You are smart, and you are talented. But this is only school, it's not real life. In real life, you'll have to deal with guys who are just as smart and talented as you. No one will consider you great just because you are James Potter, a clever and funny prankster. In Quidditch, it will be a constant fight to prove that you're the best. Tell me, James, when was the last time you really put effort into something?"

"I put efforts into Quidditch!"

"Yes, because you like it. And when you like it."

"That's not – " James started and then he fell silent. Raymond was right: since he had become a Quidditch captain, he had stopped enjoying the game so much. It had turned to obligation – he had to plan practices, develop strategies and so on. He had lost a great deal of his enthusiasm for it. He had felt far better being just a Chaser. A _star_ Chaser.

For a while, no one said anything. They only drank their butterbeer.

James looked at his hands. "Am I really this awful?"

Remus' brother smiled. "Not awful. Just young and inexperienced. And not the champion sort. There's nothing wrong with not being born a champion, James. I wouldn't want to be one for the world. I don't want to give a month of labour for an hour of triumph that might not come at all. A champion must be able to give a hundred percent of himself at any time. A tenth percent inspiration and ninety percent perspiration, that's the real success, says the seven-fold world champion. No, thanks. This is not for me."

"Win at any cost, eh?" James almost smiled. But not quite.

Raymond drained the remnants of his bottle. "Is there any other victory? Each victory is won because there is a price paid. There are no good fortunes, ask Dominic Montresorre. If you are ready to pay the price, very well. But I suspect that you aren't."

He stood up. "I'd better go now, before Sylvie decides that I've been with another woman and locks me out. For Merlin's sake, do not leave these glasses and the bottle here for my parents to find! And if you do, I'll deny ever having been here since your arrival. Hell, if my mother gets really angry, I'll probably denied ever having met your lot, Remus included."

This time, James grinned for real. He knew Mrs Lupin and her wooden spoon more closely that he was ready to admit. He could surely understand Raymond's reserves. "We won't," he promised.

"And remind Remus to take the potion at Hogwarts."

"All right. Anything else?"

"Yes." Raymond looked aside, hesitated. "If we don't see each other tomorrow, try not to worry too much, James. Some things are just the way they are and we have to accept them. It isn't up to us to change the weakness in someone else's nature. We are not guilty for what the others do, even if they think they are doing it for us. We are responsible for our own behavior and that alone."

James felt his skin pricking with bad anticipation. "What do you mean? Tell me what you mean…"

"Good night, James."

"Wait!"

He made a step forward, as if he wanted to grab Raymond and physically prevent him from leaving the house. Raymond went to the door, then turned to look at him.

"You asked about Michel," he said. "Let me tell you something about him: he has a birthday tomorrow. He'll be seventeen. He won't celebrate it, because he'll be training in the morning and competing in the afternoon. _That's_ what being a champion is about, James. Good night."

_The next day…_

When James saw Cursor in front of the hall where the competition would take place in minutes, he thought that the man had come to persuade him again. It was not until he noticed the two Aurors and the Professors McGonagall and Flitwick that he realized it was not the case at all. The crowd blocked a big part of his view and he could hear only separate words and phrases, "sabotage a game… debts… harm… last chance… almost murdered a student…", but he could not put them together to make sense. Then, the manager of the Fierce Brooms looked at Flitwick and a sudden change of the wind let James hear his words perfectly.

"I didn't know she was allergic."


	6. Chapter 6

_Disclaimer: Mine? Hardly._

**As always, thanks for every review left for the story.**

Chapter 6

_A few minutes later…_

The situation was quickly getting out of hand. The presence of the Aurors could not stay unnoticed. People stopped and stared at them. And the realization who was the one that they had come to arrest raised the interest. Reporters who had come to comment on the competition surrounded the Aurors asking tones of questions – to Cursor, as well as them. Cameras flashed. Rumours spread. Realizing that he might have to wait until they got to Hogwarts to realize what was going on, James decided to have the answers straight from one of the participants in the scene: he made his way to his Head of House.

"Professor? What's going on?"

She looked at him and shook her head. "I should have known the four of you would want to be right in the centre of the events," she said. "Very well, come here."

She took the students to one of the side rooms in the building of the competition – "Thanks, Professor, otherwise we couldn't have made it in," Sirius muttered – and went straight to the core of it.

"Yes," she said. "We know who were responsible for your accident, Miss Peters. All culprits will be punished. You are safe now."

Angela's eyes did not leave the Professor's face. "Cursor?" she asked. "But how did you trace it up to him? I'd never have guessed. Why did he want to fail me? I didn't even know him!"

McGonagall made a helpless gesture. "He did not want to fail you. At least, he thought you wouldn't realize you'd been tricked. He didn't lie about that – he didn't know you were allergic. No one did."

"But why did he take such an interest in a school match?" James asked.

"He wasn't interested in this match at all," she explained. "The key was elsewhere. Thank Merlin for Raymond, who was the first one to tell us that it did not look like a typical school affair. Too mature, well-thought, he said. If Angela hadn't had this allergic reaction, no one would have known that it was a sabotage and when such things happen between our teams… well, everyone knows. It is usually something spectacular, a hex or whatever."

"So why was he interested?" James insisted.

She took one of the chairs and motioned for them to do the same. They didn't.

"He was desperate," she finally said. "The _Fierce Brooms_ is falling apart."

"But they are a prospering team – " Sirius protested.

McGonagall shook her head. "No, when their situation was inspected closely, they aren't. It's true that they are still popular, but they haven't won any important matches in years. Their finances are managed poorly. And they make too many changes in the team. The players just don't want to work under these conditions. I cannot say for sure what caused this, but the fact is a fact – they leave and the team is starting to decline. In his circles, Cursor is known to try to attract young, promising players. That has been his strategy in more than a year." She looked straight at James. "He seems to have been fond of the idea of attracting you, Mr Potter."

James shook his head as if he was trying to clear it off. It didn't work – he still couldn't make the connection. "And what does it have to do with what happened to us?"

"He wasn't sure that you'd want to compete after graduating. He wanted to make sure that you would want to play professionally. He wanted to give you some… allure, let's say." She smiled faintly. "It isn't this strange. You are an excellent player, you know."

"Yes," James said. "But so is Angela. Why didn't he want her instead?"

For a moment, McGonagall looked at the girl. "Yes," Angela folloed, "why? We have always been equal. Except for – " She fell silent.

The Transfiguration Professor nodded approvingly. Miss Peters was one of those who embodied everything that a typical Ravenclaw was supposed to be – full not only of academic knowledge but also of worldly wisdom. Too many Ravenclaws lacked the latter although they excelled in the first.

'Yes. You remembered. Miss Peters has made it perfectly clear that she was not interested I playing professionally," she explained to the boys. "That's why she was not of interest to Cursor."

James and Sirius looked at each other. Angela closed her eyes. Remus squeezed her hand. In the silence that followed, Peter's voice sounded unnaturally loud, although he was not speaking louder than usual. "But why?" he asked. "I mean, taking all this trouble just to ensure that a certain boy who hasn't even graduated will go to his team a year later? It doesn't sound right. I'm sorry, Professor," he added quickly, concerned that he might have sounded as if he didn't believe her.

Peter has always been good at pointing out the obvious. That didn't sound right to James either, but… he had heard Cursor confessing.

"How?" Angela asked once she was able to control her voice. "How did he do it? He wasn't at Hogwarts this day, I suppose? Someone would have noticed if he were."

'Maybe he bribed someone else to do it," Sirius suggested. Her reasoning sounded logical.

McGonagall nodded and looked at her watch. The match would start in less than an hour and she didn't want to miss the start. Knowing Dominic Montresorre since their Hogwarts days, she was curious to see what he had prepared for this final match, the most important of all. She hoped that she could use it as a basis for some new spells. _Maybe I should have been at Ravenclaw_, she thought. In truth, the Sorting Hat had had half a mind to place her there.

"Yes," she confirmed. "We used a Time-Turner and we saw it being done. You can be sure that the student who did it will be punished. All I can tell you is that he's a seventh-year."

"Punished how?" Sirius inquired. He was more than willing to implement the punishment. This period after the accident had been one of the worst he remembered in all his years at Hogwarts.

"It is yet to be decided. But there will be a punishment, I assure you. Maybe he'll even be expelled."

Now, that was a bit harsh. Sabotages were something pretty usual before important matches. They were certainly not worth an expulsion. Not a few months before graduating. After all, the culprit couldn't have known that Angela's body will react this strongly. On the other hand, Sirius should have known what was likely to happen when he sent Snivellus to the Whomping Willow… but no, he had worked so hard to repair the damages caused by _this_ folly. He wouldn't go back to that now. He didn't dare look at Remus, because he knew Moony was thinking about that, too.

McGonagall stood up. "Now go and enjoy this match, all of you," she said. "If my memory serves me right, Dominic Montresorre will have something to show. Something that will leave the world wonder-struck."

Sirius looked at her curiously. "You know him, don't you, Professor?" he asked, suddenly sure of what he was saying. He knew that his father and his Head of House had been at Hogwarts at the same time and he knew that his father and Montresorre had been classmates and friends once. How did he know? His father had certainly never discussed it with him. An image came to his mind: one of his parents' many quarrels, his father trying to control himself, his mother shaking with rage and hissing something about Montresorre and his half-breed whore… but he could not remember when that had happened. He only knew that it must have been long ago, since his parents had lived in years in something like a cold truce, too exhausted to fight anymore.

The Transfiguration Professor was already at the door, but this question made her turn and look at them. "I do," she said. "And I can guarantee that he has something in mind. This match will be worth watching."

"Oh," Peter said. "Where was he Sorted?" he asked curiously.

She gave them a quick look and actually smiled. "Slytherin," she said and saw their faces fell. She had anticipated this reaction, had reacted the same way when the young Frenchman had been Sorted at his transfer from Beauxbatons. Soon, she had been forced to realize that he was neither cunning nor vicious. Quite a shock for a fierce Gryffindor like her, to realize that a Slytherin lacked the typical Slytherin vices. How simple things had looked back then – they still did, for these kids. They might have admired the renowned duelist before, but they couldn't do it anymore, for no better reason that he had been a Slytherin. They would grow up soon, though. She had. She remembered that the most striking thing about Dominic had been his enormous ambition, as well as his coldness, though it was a strategy of defense more than anything else. She respected his professionalism and his great success. Which did not mean she didn't want him – or rather, his son – defeated today. Yet, she had the feeling that it might not be this simple.

She left and the five students followed her out. The others gave James and Angela cautious looks, but the two Chasers looked happy and relaxed. It was as if the truth had lifted the shadow that had fallen between them. No one was to blame for the accident. Of course, they had known it before, but they hadn't realized just how important it was to have it confirmed. James reached for her hand and she gave him a beaming smile.

Sirius cleared his throat. "Hey," he said, "boyfriend here, remember?" But he was grinning from ear to ear.

The grin soon vanished, anyway, when he realized that the crowd had entered the building. It was so full that there was no use of their tickets – they could not get to their places and show them. "Honestly, you two," James growled and glared at Sirius and Peter. "Delaying us with your stupid questions – "

'Not now, Prongs," Remus cut in. "Let's find a way to enter."

Too soon, though, they had to realize that there was no way to make it to the entrance, it was so overcrowded. Their missing the match looked like a real possibility and they had just started to argue whose responsibility it was when Angela hissed at them to shut up.

"Be quiet! I've just seen someone who can help us."

Without waiting for reply, she raised her voice. "Cris!" she shouted. "Cristian! Here! Here!" and waved at someone who had just appeared two doors away from them, in a space that looked way too unoccupied.

He looked at them and there was recognition in his eyes. He waved at Angela to go to him. Without hesitation, she grabbed Sirius by the hand and dragged him towards the other boy. The others followed… and bumped into an invisible wall. Everyone immediately realized why the space at the other side looked so wide and clear.

The boy started talking to the two wizards who were holding the barrier on his side. They started shaking their heads, but he insisted. Again, they refused, but he seemed to be so convincing that one of them finally raised his wand and released the wall.

"Quick!" Angela whispered and the five of them passed before someone noticed that the barrier was no more. Behind their backs, the two wizards raised it anew.

Angela held out a hand and the boy shook it. "What are you doing here?" he asked in accented English.

"We cannot reach our seats," she explained and he nodded.

"With all this folly here, I cannot say I am surprised. Well, I suppose you can sit with us. Unless…" He hesitated. "Unless you find it awkward."

Awkward? Why should they find it awkward? Sirius looked at Angela, but it was Remus who explained, "I think he means the French group."

"Oh," Sirius said – nothing better came in mind. It made sense, of course – the accent, the fact that the place where they were standing was separated from the others. Could they sit with the French group who would naturally support Michel Montresorre while they would cheer for George Amory? But honestly, what other choice did they have, not see the competition at all?

Sirius made up his mind: he stepped forward. "This is my boyfriend, Sirius," Angela introduced him. "And this is Cris. He was in my year at Beauxbatons. And this is Reynald," she went on, meaning another boy who had just joined them.

The two French could not be more different. Cris was white-blond and that immediately reminded Sirius of Lucius Malfoy. He decided that he didn't like Cris. Undoubtedly girls would find the French guy very handsome, but that could not affect _Sirius_. Reynald was dark and black-haired, muscled but too slim for his age, which Sirius deduced was close to his own. They were both dressed like Muggles and Sirius couldn't blame them – Muggle clothing _was_ comfortable. Both looked tense and while they were walking toward the great hall where the competition would take place, Sirius realized that to them, this match was of utter importance. No one made a prognosis about the forthcoming result. It was clear in advance anyway: a renowned champion against a student, they could as well skip the competition and that would make no change for the result.

The enormous hall was overcrowded, full of enthusiasms and cheers for Amory before they had even started. Such a thing could kill the mettle of everyone competing against the local champion. The French made way for Cris and Reynald and asked them questions in French that was too quick for the English boys to follow. They shook their heads and smiled.

They reached their seats in the last minute and James was glad that they had made it, after all. But it was not destined to pass without problems: just when they were going to sit down, one of the sponsors came upon them. Stormed upon them, rather: he actually grabbed Cris by the hand and shook him so violently that his teeth clattered.

"What do you think you're doing?" he roared. "You've got a start in less than two minutes and you're winding off here… Is your wand checked? Merlin, you haven't even dressed!"

Heads turned towards them. Laughter exploded here and there among the French group. The sponsor looked around, not sure why he was being laughed at. Angela giggled. Cris kept his face expressionless. "I don't have a start," he said.

"What do you mean, you don't have – "

Cris pointed at something in the centre of the hall.

There was a sudden silence in the hall – cold unfriendly silence. Michel Montresorre had come to the carpet, surrounded by hostility from all sides. The sponsor stared at him and then left without another word. Sirius placed his Omniocular to his eyes and stared at the French competitor and then at Cris. Then at Michel again. And then he suddenly laughed. "Oh that was priceless," he announced. "He was about to have a fit, he was."

Intrigued, James looked through his own Omniocular first at Michel and then at Cris. The same face!

"Are you twins?" he asked.

Cris – now James realized that Angela had omitted his surname – nodded. "Cristian Montresorre," he said and since the English guys started to ask him all kinds of questions, he unashamedly passed the ball to his friend. "I know nothing about dueling," he declared. "This is your man – Reynald Dubois, duelist number three in the world."

"You'll be sorry for that," Reynald hissed and tried to make himself as small as possible, since many of the spectators had already started looking at them, noticing the absolute uniformity between the duelist on the carpet and the onlooker in the hall. Once looking at them, they recognized Reynald too and started whispering. James himself wanted to ask him some questions, like why there weren't any great Muggleborn duelists. As far as he knew, Reynald was the first to ever reach a final. The newspapers said so.

Michel Montresorre saluted the judges. James could practically see thousands of hostile eyes ripping the young Frenchman apart. The stony-faced crowd in this hall was practically willing him to drop the wand.

Montresorre responded like the king that he was striving to be: he stood in the centre of the mat, took his wand out and raised it, then stood in this regal, yet defiant pose and waited for his rival to come.

Suddenly, James felt very sorry for this boy who was his own age and thrown to the wolves. He had become accustomed to Slytherins booing him during Quidditch games, but he had had the comforting feel of support from everyone else. But Michel Montresorre was surrounded by people who wanted him to lose. How could he stand it and look so calm, so serene? How had the boy next to James, Reynald Dubois, stood it a few days ago? No wonder that he had lost! Such a thing could shake anyone's confidence. Win at any cost? No, James wouldn't want to win at that cost, being hated by everybody, if only for an hour. Maybe Raymond was right. Maybe he really wasn't the champion sort. And maybe Michel really was it.

A thought crossed his mind, about the punishment to the one who had spoiled Angela's chocolate at Hogwarts. Maybe the punishment wasn't as harsh as he had first thought. But now George Amory had entered the hall and James left this still forming thought drift and stared intently at the two competitors.

He was still sixteen, after all. He was allowed to get excited by his first World Championship.


	7. Chapter 7

_Disclaimer: I own nothing._

**I am sorry for being absent for**** so long. I had a car accident and I needed to be careful with my PC for a while. As always, thanks for every review posted here.**

Chapter 7

_**A few minutes later…**_

Things turned out not to be as determined in advance as James had thought before. Or at least, the end wouldn't come as fast as he had expected. It was still clear that George Amory was the better competitor – he was the one who made the attacks. Michel only defended himself. Somehow he always managed to do it successfully, but that was not enough, not when he couldn't land a blow himself. And it was not only because of the crowd support for Amory. Michel didn't even try to attack. The cheers became louder and James was shocked to see the smile on Michel's face. It was not a fake smile, nor a smile of resolve – it was pure joy. He turned to Cristian and saw him smile, too.

A quick motion of Amory's wand, completely unexpected. He was the fastest duelist in the world nowadays. There was no time for the young Frenchman to jump aside, no time for landing a counterstrike.

Michel didn't even try to move aside. Instead, he waited for the spell to come and then fell backwards, as if hit… but no, it was not a fall, he just curved his body backwards, so that his head almost touched the carpet behind him. This position should have made him collapse, but he didn't. Not quite believing his eyes, James saw in his Omniocular how the other boy held this unnatural curve, controlling every muscle of his body. At the same time, his wand met the coming curse and sent it backward, toward the man who had cast it. Only Amory's renowned swiftness helped him jump aside at this unexpected attack and in this part of the moment, Michel stood upright again and sent a powerful curse that passed only an inch from Amory's head.

After the initial shock, the crowd roared, but it was not the booing that James would expect from Slytherins after Gryffindor had scored a goal. It was encouragement, excitement, joy that they would, after all, see a battle worth watching. And looking at him, James saw that Michel received inspiration from the cheers. He was not the scared student that James had taken him for. The series of victories that had brought him to this hall had not been just sheer luck. He was as quick as Amory, he controlled his wand and he was not afraid to attack. He was also extremely flexible. James had never seen anyone capable of such twists, curves, rotations, stretches and unnatural poses of the body, all the while working with his wand and surprising his rival with unexpected angles of attack. _What a pity that he didn't chose Quiddich as his favourite sport_, James thought. _He could have become a Chaser or a Beater – as glamorous as they come._ _I bet that he can throw the Quaffle hanging from his broom on his left toe_. He just couldn't fathom how someone could send an aimed blow turned half-aside from his rival, with his wand almost touching his elbow and his fingers turned so backwards that they were actually touching his wrist. But James understood what McGonagall had meant by saying that Dominic Montresorre surely had something to show. Without even realizing it, he had started to cheer wildly every time the Frenchman managed to land a blow or do something with his body that James had never thought possible…

* * *

_There is no duelist who is more flexible than me, no one in the world, _Michel thought_. Father says so. _He had watched championships and practices for as long as he could remember and he knew it was true. No one else controlled his body so perfectly, no one had more chances for attacks from unbelievable and completely unpredictable positions.

He muttered a cutting spell that would incapacitate his rival… given that it managed to actually strike him, and hard at that. George Amory was extremely swift. Michel wasn't. Oh he could fool the crowd and even the judges and his rivals with small, effective motions that gave the impression of dynamics – a technique designed by his father for him. But this mask had been meant to support him while he, with hard work, gain the qualities that he lacked. It had not been meant to be tested against the swiftest competitor in the world! Yet, Michel had no other choice. He could only hope that at the heat of the moment, Amory did not have time to realize that it was only pretence.

Amory's Stunning spell hit Michel's shield and actually managed to knock him down. The crowd erupted in cheers. Even in this moment, Michel felt his lips curving in a smile. He loved that – the public cheering for someone else…

… and he, Michel, playing even better than this someone. He had managed to avoid the full measure of the blow by twisting on the side. He was on his feet in a minute and aimed a curse that extracted a yell of excitement from the crowd and then another spell, intentionally making it weaker than he could have and slightly misplaced…

… well, not so slightly. Terrified, Michel realized that he was losing the specific accuracy of his aim that he had worked off so hard. Amory's practice was starting to give him the upper hand. _I have to make it quick_, he thought, with mixed excitement and fear. The words were simple enough, but the timing and skill they required were specific. No one had ever done it, no one in the world.

He had no choice, though. His life depended on it. He had to win. At any cost. Terror gave him strength and focus. Would they be enough?

* * *

Cristian was sitting next to James, Reynald on his other side. Alain Montresorre's hand was gripping his brother's shoulder so tightly that James saw the knuckles had gone not white but blue. Cristian was sure to get a bruise but it seemed that right now, he didn't even feel pain.

At Alain's other side, there was a young woman who was so beautiful that she could only be a Veela. James had to admit that if she smiled, she might become even prettier than his Lily Flower. He could not be sure, though: her face was contorted by the tension that she was watching the match with.

"Why wouldn't he break?" Sirius muttered, sincerely amazed. James shared this sentiment: the French boy should have literally broken in pieces at lest ten times by now. No one could be so uncannily plastic.

"Until now, I haven't realized how much more terrible it is to watch than play," Alain muttered. Cristian squeezed his brother's fingers without trying to loose their grip on his shoulder.

Reynald was very pale and tensed. He exulted in every strong blow of his teammate, shouted with joy every time Michel managed to avoid the final blow or made a spectacular strike that got the public cheering and waving. He encouraged and gave advices all the time, although his friend couldn't hear him. "Keep this…", "Great…", "Right, that's it!", "Go on, Michel, you're awesome…", "No, look there!" He wouldn't shut up, but he kept his voice soft and he didn't disturb anybody. When Michel's spell went terribly astray, Reynald groaned quietly and the young woman cried out in horror, thus making this mistake even more pronounced. Hundreds of eyes turned to them. Alain hissed something so quick that James couldn't make out the French words but the meaning was clear: "Christine, shut up, or I don't know what I'm going to do next!"

She nodded, obviously realizing her mistake.

"He's losing his accuracy," Alain whispered. "Oh Perun, he will…"

"Now," Reynald muttered, as if he was praying to some bizarre god of duels. "Please, you have to do it now."

Almost as if he had heard him, Michel threw his head backwards and made a movement to intercept Amory's spell and throw it back at him, as he had done a fee times before. Amory jumped aside. At the last moment, a huge column of grey lightening burst from the tip of Michel's wand and engulfed Amory's curse, dispersing it into nothing. And then the boy did something that no one had seen even in their wildest dreams. Four different spells burst from his wand at the same moment. Amory jumped aside again, but two of the spells – ropes of light – followed him and tied him in less than a moment, while the third hit him squarely in the chest. He fell on the carpet, his wand flowing in the air. The fourth spell – a thin yellow ray – caught it and brought it to Michel Montresorre's outstretched hand.

The hall erupted in cheers and roars. Everybody was roused and clapping, even George Amory's parents. No one had ever seen such a thing, more than one spell casted simultaneously. It required a perfect mastery of the wand, tremendous willpower and ability to split one's concentration without losing it. It was almost unbelievable that such a young one would have all these qualities.

Everybody was shouting so loud that James' ears hurt. Alain had pulled Cristian in a tight hug, yelling, "Happy birthday". They were both laughing. Reynald's smile could split his face in two. The woman, Christine, was grinning wildly. Again, James couldn't determine whether she was prettier than Evans, because her face was hidden behind this enormous smile.

He looked at the winner. Michel didn't look ecstatic, not even happy. He accepted Amory's congratulations and shook his hand, his face curiously blank. And while he was walking the brief path from the carpet to his father, James wondered whether he even realized that he was the new world champion. That he had won. What was victory worth if you didn't know about it?

* * *

_**The same evening…**_

"I'll just say goodbye to John, and we are leaving," Remus said. "I promised I wouldn't leave without telling him," he added.

James grinned. "I wouldn't mind seeing the imp one last time," he said. He was quite fond of the little monster. As John's mother put it, it was good for the child to have friends his own mental age.

It was Sylvie who opened the door. Her pregnancy was starting to show. She smiled and let them in. "John has been waiting for you," she said, "but I'm afraid he was quite tired today and he fell asleep… thankfully."

"I can't believe it," Remus said.

"They exhausted him," Raymond explained, entering the kitchen that was full of muggle devices. It was a well known fact that Sylvie had been taught to cook by her muggle mother in-law and that she didn't know any cooking spells. Instead, she seemed to know how to operate the cooker. James started looking around curiously, because there were some devices here that he hadn't seen in Remus' mother's kitchen. However, his enthusiasm significantly diminished when he opened the door of a cupboard under the sink and found out it was full of _dirty_ dishes.

"Who did?" Remus asked.

"They," Raymond said and yes, here they were. Cris and Reynald. Or maybe Michel and Reynald. The Marauders hadn't seen them since the award ceremony that had been unexplainably delayed.

"You've been hiding here all this time? While the journalists were looking for you?" Angela exclaimed.

Cristian shrugged. "It was Michel they wanted most," he said. "And I could really do without smart questions like "Isn't it strange that you have no interest in dueling when your twin brother is a world champion? Have you ever tried to make it into this dueling world? Why not?"

He imitated a journalist in exhilaration so fine that the newcomers burst out laughing. That was why Angela had always liked this guy better than his newly famous brother. Michel was not haughty, but he was reticent – something that often happened to those who were really gifted. Cris was much more human. As similar as they looked, they were vastly different personalities. Michel would turn a head in every crowd, but Cristian would warm a heart. If she weren't involved with Sirius, she might have… _Stop it, girl,_ she thought sternly to herself.

Sylvie offered them drinks – unfortunately, only nonalcoholic – and Angela asked, "Where is Michel?"

"Sleeping," Cris said. "Has been sleeping since we came here."

James couldn't believe it. Was that why a man would want to become a world champion? To sleep the day off? Why the hell had Michel Montresorre chased his victory so hard if he didn't know what to do with it?

"He was asleep _before_ we came," Reynald corrected. "The ceremony was delayed because everyone was dispatched to find the new champion," he explained and there was laughter in his voice. "They found him deeply asleep in the changing room."

"Really?" Sirius asked impressed and whistled. "He's weird," he decided.

This time, Reynald laughed openly. "He is," he agreed. "With most of us, the excitement of victory keeps us awake and alert; but Michel, the whole exhaustion of practices and matches builds up and takes him as soon as he stops performing. Right after the final match. I actually feared that he'd fall asleep again right through the awarding ceremony."

_The poor winner_, James thought sympathetically.

"Well, Michel does need his sleep," a cold crystal voice with a strange accent interrupted and an older woman entered the kitchen. "Unlike some other people," she added, looking straight at Remus.

"This is my grandmother, Barbara Montresorre," Sylvie said and said the boys' names. The old woman nodded politely, but distractedly. She was tall, towering over her diminutive granddaughter, and frail. Her face was oblong, her hair blond faded to white, her complexion fair, her eyes wide and blue or grey, James couldn't tell. These eyes were fixing Moony with such seriousness that James felt a chill down his spine. She looked transfixed.

"Tell me who you met last night at the seashore?" she asked.

"What – " Sirius started, but Angela stepped on his foot. Good of her. James had no idea what was going on, but he was glad that he was not the one to answer to the old crow. Not that Remus had met anyone last night, of course. He was not the one to chase girls. And it was close to a full moon, when he was least likely to set a foot outside, too tired to do anything.

"I won't tell you this, Madame," Remus said and James blinked.

"You don't know it anyway," the old woman said. "But I do and I will tell you: you met me, Remus Lupin!"

Now Moony laughed, but James could tell that he was only trying to hide his confusion. Barbara Montresorre remained serious. She even looked crested and at the same time, helpless. "You met me as I was fifty years ago!" she went on.

Remus was no longer laughing, he was staring at her, as if he were trying to comprehend her words.

"Morena, Morena – " the old woman whispered, as if to herself. "Here you think of Death as an old woman and she is, at the end. Once, my curse was hidden deep within me. Now it's on the outside and everyone can see it."

Suddenly, James made the connection. Emma's thoughtless words, the pain in Raymond's face as he talked of the disease in Sylvie's family. The illness had come through this woman, she had doomed the ones she loved… but what did Moony have to do with it? James wanted to get out, away from her, but he realized that he couldn't. He was glued to this place, to the pain in this woman's face, to her unblinking stare and strange words. Was she trying to scare Remus off? Or was she warning him about something? If it was so, his friend obviously took the warning as a challenge, or insult. His hand gripped the wand and James silently unclasped his fingers. Moony did not even look at him.

The sound of breaking glass put an end to the hypnosis. Reynald looked at his bleeding hand but made no move to clean the gash. Sylvie put a hand to her mouth, as if she were stifling a cry. Barbara blinked and shook her head, as if she was waking from a dream. Cristian grabbed her by the hand and asked a sharp question in a language that wasn't French. She hissed a short reply and he started asking a new question, but stopped mid-sentence. He looked… scared. Remus did not look aside from the old woman. He looked as if he was trying to make sense out of her earlier rambling. Stunned, James stared at the aghast crowd.

"I could use some fresh air," Reynald suddenly said and left, followed by Cristian.

Sylvie sat heavily on the coach. She looked so pale and shaken that James feared that she might faint. Remus fetched her some water and her grandmother and Angela fussed about her.

"What was all that about?" Sirius asked and James was grateful that the question had been asked. He wouldn't dare himself, but leave it to Padfoot to care nothing about tact and delicacy. "Who is this Morena?"

"No one," Barbara said.

"That's not what you said before."

"In old Slavic tradition," she said reluctantly, "Morena, or Morana, is a goddess of nature, winter and death. She often appears as a beautiful young girl with long blond hair. Whoever meets her and loves her should die."

James felt that he should laugh at this nonsense, but he couldn't. Remus obviously had met someone last night and given by his reactions, it hadn't been an ordinary meeting. It was important to him, although the reason had yet to be discovered. Well, they had discovered his most guarded secret, so they could surely sort this out.

He was still thinking about this, when the old crow's scream made him jump. She was pointing hysterically at the window, at the green skull flowing in the sky the disgusting mark that James had only heard about.

"The boys!" Sylvie cried and burst through the door, her wand ready at her hand. "Strengthen the wards and do not leave John alone for a minute!" she yelled at her grandmother and the old woman immediately set to work. The Marauders and Angela looked at each other and quickly slipped out, before the wards could trap them _inside_ the flat.

The multicoloured sparks showed them where the battle was. When they came running, there were like a dozen masked figures fighting with three other people. Cristian's blond hair shone through the darkness, making him a visible target.

"Who do you think you are, half-breed," someone bellowed, "to play like this against a pureblood?"

In the brief moment it took him to choose a target, James thought that winning at any cost definitely had some disadvantages, like being followed and attacked simply because you had competed and won fair and square against a local champion.

* * *

**Author Note: Although Slavic mythology is not as well known as Greek and Norse myths, it is just as fascinating. I would advise everyone interested in myths about fertility, ensuring a rich harvest and living-dying-rebirthing gods to read the myths about Morena/Marzanna and Jarilo. They are as captivating as those about Hades, Demeter and Persephone. **


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: All belongs to Jo. Is she ever going to give us another universe as magical as Harry Potter's?**

Chapter 8

_A few minutes later…_

_Whoever said that the Death Eaters were stupid, obviously had no idea what he was talking about_, James thought. These guys were anything but. Short-sighted and prejudiced they might be, and too full of themselves and their pride in their ancient lineage but they were far from stupid. At least, they did not fight like stupid people, butchering around and everyone fighting for himself. No, they were slowly, but steadily closing a circle around the small group. James desperately made the calculation: eleven Death Eaters against a group of seven… six of whom were still students. He pointed his wand and shouted the Disarming spell, but missed. The next moment, he saw the green ray that he had only heard about, but recognized immediately – the _Avada Kedavra_…

Why, oh why didn't they have more DADA classes in their schedule? And why their practical defense lessons gave them no real information? James yelled the Cutting Curse and with some satisfaction saw one of the hooded figures clutching his arm – regretfully, the left one – and moan. The next moment, he shouted a warning at Angela, but through the roar of all the voices, she did not hear him… and neither did she see the green light coming at her back. James shouted the _Expelliarmus _but it was too late, the curse was already flying. It would hit the Ravenclaw girl any minute now…

Except that it didn't. A quick flash, a hiss of something flying in the air: Reynald Dubois had sent a spell that moved faster than anything James had ever seen. It intercepted the Killing Curse and deflected it at an old oak near the pavement that split in two.

"Bloody Mudblood!" someone shouted.

"Oh yes," Reynald shouted. "Come here, you coward. Come to the Mudblood. Or are you afraid?"

Dismayed, James noticed that the Death Eater he had Disarmed was running to fetch his wand. _Damn it, I should have collected it_. He had been so scared for Angela that he had forgotten this part. He wouldn't make this mistake again.

Suddenly, someone jumped in the Death Eater's way – a tall blond boy. Cristian. He was yelling a curse at another hooded figure even while he was leaning backwards, scrambling for the fallen wand – basically the same movement that his brother had used against Amory in the competition. Like Michel, he kept the unnatural angle, repelling his first enemy and desperately trying to feel the fallen wand.

"On your left!" James screamed, Stunning the Death Eater closest to him.

Somehow, thanks more to luck than skill, Cristian managed to grab the wand. He jumped up and sent two spells simultaneously with the two wands – his own and the one he had just taken. His two attackers fell – so did James' jaw. That was more incredible even than Michel's performance and even in the horror of the moment, he knew that. Not that he had much time to think about it right now. He looked around to measure the situation and he did not like what he saw.

Sirius and Angela were fighting back to back, so they could not be surprised from behind anymore. With growing desperation, James noticed that they, too, were restrained to the very basic defensive spells they had covered by the schedule. Sure, he knew that the bulk of true defense came through the seventh year but there was a war, so shouldn't have they… sped the things up or something? A real lapse on Dumbledore's part. He really needed to address the issue with the Headmaster – that was, if he ever got to talk to him again, which, at this point, James didn't think a really viable option. Remus and Peter were no better – Moony was too weak, as he always was around this time of the month and Peter was – well, Peter.

With Sylvie, the situation was different. The Auror was fully trained and had quick reflexes. She, however, was well known in the wizarding society and the news of her pregnancy had obviously reached the enemy, since the two Death Eaters who were fighting her were constantly aiming in her stomach, forcing her to concentrate more on protecting her baby then actually attacking them.

Cristian and Reynald seemed to have it better. Cristian was obviously a trained duelist and Reynald was a professional – at James' age! They had engaged five Death Eaters into a battle and they wouldn't let them leave their range. Not that they wanted to. It seemed that they had personal issues with Reynald and Cristian's – who they took for Michel – wins in the championship, where virtually every competitor except for them was a pureblood. Still, five against two was not a lucky proportion and the main problem was that even after Reynald knocked one of his rivals out of the hussle, and seemingly out of consciousness, too - another one took his place. There were just too many of them. Still, the two Beauxbatons boys cleared three more and Michel rushed into the scene just in time to take care of another pair that he lifted in the air and bumped their heads – hardly – into one another. James' ears filled with the sickening sound of breaking bones and the two men fell unconscious on the ground.

He repelled another Death Eater and caught Sirius' eye. They understood each other without words. At exactly the same moment, they lifted their respective rivals and crushed them into each other, just like Michel had done.

Slowly, the things started turning. Michel's arrival turned the tide – he was very competitive and he could fight four rivals with a single wave of the wand. Besides, this movement that had already become known as his trademark gave their enemies an inkling that they had targeted the wrong blond-haired boy. Now six of them hurled themselves at him, thus leaving their backs unprotected against James and the others.

_They don't even care whether we'd __attack them, _James realized_. All they care about is to wipe out the half-blood who won against all these pureblood duelists_. Well, they wouldn't wipe Michel today and they wouldn't escape. Yet, he was shocked by the realization just how fanatic these people were. And if their master was worse than them…

But the things just kept getting better and better. Dominic Montresorre appeared out of nowhere – Apparated, probably, - along with two other men. The Death Eaters tried to Apparate, since the numbers were not in their favour.

"Oh no, you don't," Dominic spat.

They tried to.

He shook his head and sent a curse that made one of them flew aside and bump into the split oak. "What this world had come to," he said. "I swear, Grindewald's supporters were smarter than you… but then, he actually picked them out, he did not accommodate every idiot who was willing to join him."

The newcomers had obviously casted an Anti-Apparition shield all over. Soon, the remaining Death Eaters were caught and stripped of their masks. James felt sick when he saw the face of Simon Trainter, one of his father's ex-colleagues.

"Come on," Remus said and tugged his sleeve. "Let's go. Cristian is not well."

James shook his head like a dog shaking itself off water. The blond boy did not look well, Moony was right. There was a dark stain on his left breast and it was expanding and bubbling, literally eating his shirt off. James almost sniffed for the smell of burning flesh.

Dominic was keeping his son upright. The man who had accompanied him looked at the wound and scowled. "I'll break the ward," he said in slightly accented English. "You must take him to St. Mungo's."

Dominic shook his head. "They cannot help him," he said. "Sylvie, I'll take him to your flat. Jorge, would you mind helping my niece transport them – " He pointed at the Death Eaters – "- to the Auror' Headquarters?"

"No problem," the man said immediately. "I hope he'll be well soon."

Between the two of them, Dominic and Michel almost carried Cristian to Sylvie's place. James reckoned that they did not dare Apparate him because of his condition – whatever the curse had been, it was literally eating its way through the boy's skin.

Barbara opened the door as soon as she asked something in Polish and Dominic gave an answer that convinced her who they were. She startled when she saw the condition that her grandson was in but gathered herself almost instantly.

"Give me water," Dominic said to no one in particular and Angela hurried to pour a ewer while Dominic and Michel cut Cristian's shirt – they obviously did not dare to make it vanish, since they were afraid of the spell intermingling with the curse that was ailing him. James barely contained his gasp when he saw the skin – deep purple, bloating rapidly and pierced by the nasty thin line of the green-yellowish cut that was running quickly upward, splitting the skin and leaving it opened. James had never seen such a thing.

"Here," Angela said and handed Dominic the ewer of water. He took it and muttered some incantations, then looked at the others.

"Hold him," he said. "He will fight."

"Won't," Cristian muttered sleepily, already semi-conscious.

"Hold him," his father repeated and the young man who had come with him took hold on Cristian's left arm, pressing it to the mattress. Sirius stepped forward and grabbed the right one. Reynald Dubois took the right leg, so James was left to keep the left one.

Michel produced a dagger and stepped next to his brother. _What the hell is he doing?_ But Dominic did not look concerned.

"I am starting now," he said and started pouring the water over Cristian's wound.

As soon as the charmed water touched the marred flesh, its colour started turning from violet to dark red-yellow. Cristian screamed – a sound of agony that James had never heard before and never wanted to hear again. Cristian started trashing in their hands, almost squirming out of their grasp, his eyes rolling wildly. It was like holding an eel. Michel slid the blunt side of the dagger between Cristian's clenched teeth, forcing them apart, then he slid his own hand between them. In his madness, Cristian bit him severely and did not release his palm. Michel didn't flinch. His father ruthlessly continued pouring the water. The room filled with the hiss and nasty smoke of burning skin. Over Cristian's head, James met Sirius' eyes. He had seen Padfoot so shaken and scared only once – after the damned Whomping Willow accident. Was that what expected them only in a year? Was that the world outside Hogwarts?

Finally, the ewer was emptied and Cristian released a deep painful breath, as well as his brother's hand. The four of them released his limbs and Michel withdrew his hand and – and – a part of it, the soft part near the wrist, was actually _missing_. James felt sick. Obviously, Cristian did also, for he turned even paler, coughed – and here it was, falling from his mouth. Peter and Angela looked ready to retch. Michel only smiled and muttered some reassurance in French so softly that Cristian was the only one who heard it. His eyes did not move from Cristian's breast. The skin looked burned, but the curse was no longer spreading its infection and it obviously hadn't had the time to reach any vital organs.

Barbara gave her grandson water to rinse his mouth and drink. Seemingly relieved about Cristian's condition, Dominic inspected Michel's wound and bit his lip. James did not get it. It surely was something that even he could mend in a minute, yet Montresorre was going to… to leave it like that? It was beyond anything believable.

"I am fine," Michel said, although he very obviously wasn't.

"Are you sure?" his father asked. "I could heal it in a flash – "

Michel smiled. "It can wait until tomorrow," he said.

"It damn well can't," Dominic spat, then sighed. "I'll find them and bring them to see you immediately."

"Father, it's so late, they are surely resting – "

"To hell with their rest," Dominic interrupted. "I'll threaten someone if I have to but you will be tended in an hour… at most."

With this, he left.

Barbara wrapped a cloth over Michel's bleeding hand and looked at everyone. "I think you need to lie down," she told Remus. "Come on, we'll make your bed in the other room."

He shook his head. "We must go back to school."

"Very well," the old woman said. "Whenever they decide to leave, they will wake you up."

Remus knew that she was right. He left with her. Angela accompanied them and said that she'd make cacao for everyone.

The room looked suddenly bigger, with so many people left. Cristian had fallen asleep. James sighed and fell in a chair. "What a night," he said.

Reynald looked disgusted with himself. "It's my fault," he said. "I should have expected it and not left so hurriedly."

"That's stupid," Sirius said. They barely knew each other, but well, fighting a battle together brought people together. "How could you know?"

Reynald smiled darkly. "Because these people haven't been happy since we started winning," he said. "The Mudblood and the half-breed. Even at Beauxbatons, there were some… accidents. And now the half-breed is a world champion. I knew it would make them furious and yet – "

"Stop talking nonsense," Michel interrupted him firmly, "and help me out of these clothes. They are soaked in blood – not mine, thank Merlin."

""Don't you want us to fix your hand?" James asked.

Michel shook his head. "No."

"Why? Are you afraid that we'll make it worse?"

"No. I just don't want it fixed."

James was absolutely baffled. "Are you out of your mind?"

"He isn't," Reynald said, undressing his teammate. "He's completely sane. It's part of the game. All healing spells are based more or less on the same principle as the _Imperius_… just like all healing potions have something of the _Felix Felicitus_. Both are strictly forbidden for us competitors. If we are caught with something like that, we can lose our right to perform for a few years. And Michel is bound to be tested any day now, after winning the competition."

James blinked. "Are you serious?"

"I am. We were all tested before the competition. We are tested whenever the sports authorities feel like it. They can come here this very minute and demand that they check us and we have no right to refuse. Dominic will find one of them to check Michel now and verify that there isn't anything suspicious in his body, so they can give him treatment without any risk to disqualify him. They need to see him taking the treatment, so that later when he testes positive, they can witness for the reason."

Was it for real? Was it the way things worked in the real sport? Sure, Slughorn had told them that _Felix Felicitus_ was forbidden for sports events and exams but James had never given any thought to how they assured that these rules were applied. Not daring to accept treatment for fear of being suspended? It defied any belief. At Hogwarts, sometimes players were forbidden to take part in a match as a part of some punishment for one thing or another but that was too much.

Michel was almost naked now. James and his friends looked aside, but the young man – the Portuguese duelist, James suddenly remembered, the one who placed fifth – looked at the half-Veela up and down, without even trying to mask his inspection. James would never stare at another guy like that – it was gross, - but after Michel's performance today, he could understand where the young Portuguese came from. James had found Michel's flexibility unique, unnatural; the participant in the championship must have harboured the same thought and now wanted to make sure that Michel's body didn't have any missing joints or something, that he didn't have any unfair advantage over the rest of them. The Frenchman seemed to realize that, too, because he simply stood and waited for his competitor to finish his scrutiny. Finally, content with the result, the Portuguese smiled and said, "I remember you."

"You do?"

"I remember you from the time you traveled as a reserve member of the team. I remember you practicing with Alain in Venice."

Michel smiled back and tried to ignore the pain. "And I remember you. You became a champion there, worming your way through Amory's defense and taking him by surprise."

"Yes, I did. I remember Alain saying that you'd make it big. You certainly did."

Michel nodded and started changing with Reynald's help. The Portuguese finally looked aside.

Sirius went to find Angela. Peter stared ahead, lost in his own thoughts. James shuddered at the thought of looking at naked Slytherins to find out whether they had some unfair edge over them. Win at any cost? Not that cost!


	9. Chapter 9

_Disclaimer: it's all Jo's._

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed.**

Chapter 9

_An__ hour later…_

The voices coming from the hallway startled James awake. They were all familiar – Dominic Montresorre, Professor Slughorn… _wait, Slughorn? What is he doing here?_ And the last voice was… could it be McGonagall, his Head of House? Yes, it was. They entered the room and looked around.

Something made James close his eyes and pretend to be asleep like the others. He did not even realize that he had done it until he heard McGonagall saying, "They are sleeping."

"They need to go back Hogwarts, Minerva," Slughorn said. "But… not now. Early in the morning."

What he did not say but James understood was that they did not want to have students traveling in the night. They considered it dangerous and after today's events, he could not blame them. A week ago, he might have, but not anymore.

He opened his eyes in a thin slit and saw Dominic standing over his son. "He isn't sleeping," he said, his voice betraying nothing. "He's semi-conscious from the loss of blood."

Frowning, the other two joined him. "I'd say you'd better close the wound, Dominic," Slughorn said. "He's lost too much blood."

"Can he wait a little without risking a longlasting damage?" Dominic demanded. _The bastard_, James thought. _Doesn't he care at all about his son, or it is all about keeping the victory?_

"For a while," Slughorn said. "Until I brew the potion that would stop both the bleeding and the pain."

"Are you sure there is no danger?"

"For now, yes."

For a moment, Dominic said nothing. Then he stroked his son's arm and looked at Slughorn, having already made a decision. "We'll wait for you to brew the potion, Professor," he said and James had to suppress a laughter of incredulity. "Let's go to the other room, as not to disturb them," Dominic added.

A minute later, their voices came from the other room. They were so clear that James almost jumped out of his skin. Then he realized that they must be in the room Raymond and Sylvie were preparing for a nursery. It was a common practice to place an Overhearing Spell in these, so parents could hear every sound the baby made.

"There won't be even a scar left," Slughorn said. A moment later, James heard the sound of splashing and mixing – obviously Slughorn had started brewing his potions.

"And there won't be any damage left, right?"

_So, he does care after all. Surprise, surprise. Only, what will happen if Slughort tells him that there might be a damage?_

Unfortunately, the Potions Professor said, "No, there won't be. In fact, there is nothing dangerous about it. There was no need for him even to feel pain. It could be mended in a blink of an eye."

"Unfortunately, I couldn't find the examiners." James thought he heard a sigh. "He will have to wait…"

"Is it worth it?" Professor McGonagall put in.

_She went too far_, James thought, although he thought along the same lines. But he wouldn't voice it!

Dominic gave a harsh laughter. "Still good and honest as ever, ah, Minerva? I see you've heard these rumours that I've been pressing him too hard – abusing him, even – that I cared only about winning and he was my winning horse."

"I wouldn't use these words."

"Why? Everyone else does." Dominic did not sound angry or insulted, he was just stating a fact. "Professor, do you need something?"

"Do you have a bit of manticore's blood?"

"I'm sure Raymond does have some. My mother should know."

A minute later, he returned with the ingredient and they resumed their conversation. "Your son is amazing," Slughorn said. "I've never seen anything like him. Yes, I remember saying the same thing about you when you were his age, but even you cannot compare…"

Dominic chuckled. "You know, most people don't tell me such things. They try to spare my feelings or whatever…"

Yes, that presented an interesting angle to the story. James had seen and heard enough of the man to realize that he was all for winning – at any cost. He had been the best in the world not too long ago – how did he feel at being upstaged, even by his own son?

"His technique is flawless," McGonagall said. "I knew you had something in store, but I couldn't even suspect that it would be the world champion."

A brief silence, boiling substance, Slughorn counting aloud and mixing.

"Things are serious, "Dominic finally said. "The anti-Muggle, anti-half breed and anti-anything-that-isn't-pureblood sentiments are getting stronger. You know about the tests made on… err, suspicious competitors?"

"Yes," Slughorn said.

"No," McGonagall answered at the same time.

"They are physical examinations of everyone who isn't pureblood," Dominic explained. "I've seen it done many times, even when I was still competing. Undressing and being examined by Healers to make sure they were eligible. Yes, that sounds quite harsh, doesn't it?" he added. "I never fully realized how humiliating it was, not until ten or fifteen years ago…"

James quickly estimated that that had been the time when Dominic's eldest sons, the half-Veela Lucien and Alain, had started competing.

"But things are getting worse," Montresorre went on. "When I was young, the examinations were just perfunctory. When Lucien started performing, it was still so. Then, they tightened the control for my boys especially but that was simply because they were winning. They wanted to catch them red-handed. To prove them ineligible and thus, to eliminate them from the competition. Now it's different. I noticed it at the first major competition I took Michel and Reynald to – you know Reynald is a Muggleborn? And I've been witnessing it ever since. They are trying to humiliate them and they are crueler than any of their colleagues I have ever met. They are against them just because the boys don't fit the standard. Even when they were still unknown as duelists, they were still treated badly. Because they are not purebloods. And that scares me. With these sentiments, we only make Voldemort's task easier. When is this potion going to be ready?"

"In fifteen minutes." Slughorn sounded tired. "We should have taken measures about Voldemort earlier, when he was still a student, Dominic."

"I told you so."

"Yes, yes. You were right and I was wrong. Still, I don't see what we could have done differently."

"I gave you reason to throw him out."

"You _fabricated_ proofs, Dominic. You lied and you got caught. You should be grateful that _you_ were allowed to stay."

James' eyes grew wide. He had never thought that Lord Voldemort had been at Hogwarts. Still, it made sense. He must have gone to school _somewhere_ and since he was British, it made sense for this school to be Hogwarts. James was very intrigued by the story that was being discussed in the other room. How old had been You-Know-Who at that time? How old had been Montresorre? What had happened?

"Yes, that's right. I fabricated proofs and I was barely allowed to stay, yet the student I was trying to prevent from getting further knowledge stayed unconditionally, then he became the darkest wizard in history and yet I am the bad one? Come on! I'll never know what had got into Dumbledore to expose me. I know he had his suspicions about Riddle, too."

"Albus always had his sense of justice," McGonagall said.

"Don't I know that! Remember, I was in Poland when Grindelwald was in his prime. Or his worst, in my point of view. When we had to take care for ourselves because the greatest wizard in history stood by and waited for Grindelwald to do something bad enough for him to interfere. Damn it, I'm sorry," he went on without a pause. "I am just so angry when I think of that time. Anyway, I am sure that Riddle had something to do with releasing the monster of Slytherin. I'll even say that he caused the death of that girl, Mireet or Mirelle or whatever…"

"Myrtle."

"Yes. Her. However, I am sure he was the one to blame. He should have been thrown out of Hogwarts long before he had the chance to learn enough. I felt what he was even then… Not that I knew what he would become, mind you. Is the potion finally ready?"

"Not yet," Slughorn said. "You know, I remember your Sorting. Your sister went to Gryffindor and everyone thought you would, too. You sat very long under the Sorting Hat and you argued with it. Then, you sat at the Slytherin table and smiled at everyone – but when you saw Riddle, your smile disappeared. I have always wondered why you disliked him from the start. Most people liked him. He was charming."

"Oh that was easy." James imagined that Montresorre shrugged. "The same hungry smile Grindelwald had. And the same winning attitude. I was Grindelwald's pet, do not forget. I spent too much time with him and his followers… I can tell their sort from a mile. Grindelwald was very charming, too. Convincing. There was a moment I could almost believe him… although I could see my brother hung to a trammel by a piano string. He was so mesmerizing. Now Voldemort is doing the same thing on a greater scale. Are you sure you got the potion right?"

"Come on, Dominic, when have you seen me getting a potion wrong?"

"I am sorry."

Silence.

"How did you make your son so flexible?" McGonagall asked.

"I didn't. He was born this way. In truth, we were quite worried. We thought he might be ill or something."

"Well, now he feels quite bad. Is it worth it?"

This time, James detected certain cold anger in Montresorre's voice. The man did not even try to hide it.

"I never thought you were the one to fall for media tricks, Minerva. Oh the poor guys on the team, Montresorre is too hard. A fanatic. You should see what he does with his son. He doesn't dare press the others, so he takes it out of the poor boy. Do you have any idea how long has Michel worked for this, Minerva? Do you? Well, I'll tell you: he's been working for this moment for twelve years. Twelve years! And you are asking me why I won't spoil it to save him some physical pain? Do you think I would do this to my son? Do you think he wants it? They'll take every excuse to tear him apart, just because he has the misfortune of being his father's son."

"What do you mean?" Slughorn asked and stirred the potion.

"That people in our circles think I've got too many titles, too many medals, too many honours. If they had the chance, they'd squash Michel on the spot. Oh yes, I know how pompously that sounds…"

"You're damned right it does," James whispered.

"But let's remember all these years when Alain repeatedly, systematically, methodically was subjected to that incomprehensible, terrible 'Referees don't like him'. What didn't they like about him, exactly? Besides the fact that he was my son and I was getting too much, so one of my sons needed to drop out of the big scene – nothing. It was the same with Pierre. Always underscored, always being discouraged. But at that time, I was too inexperienced myself and I couldn't protect them adequately. Now I know better. Michel and Reynald will get what they deserve, because they are ahead of everyone else in the world. That cost them much labour, efforts, nerves, and stamina. And you know, we have not gathered together to a Christmas tree but a competition. Competitors should know that they will be appreciated only by what they show on the terrain. Whoever wants medals, can get them here where everyone is put in equal conditions. And right now, that means that Michel shouldn't give them the smallest reason to doubt the authenticity of his victory, even if that means that he should endure some pain! Ah, it's ready. Finally!"

The three of them came back to the room where the boys slept. Still pretending to be asleep, James saw Michel being Ennervated and his eyes widening in panic as soon as he felt his palm healing. He instinctively tried to get away from the relief, obviously terrified that he was given an unauthorized healing. Prof_essional sport has messed up even his instincts,_ James realized. Dominic stepped forward, so Michel could see him, and the boy immediately calmed down.

James was doing his best to look asleep and to his surprise, he could feel that he might actually fall asleep. Everything that had happened, everything that he had eavesdropped suddenly made perfect sense. He had no reason to feel guilty for what had happened to Angela and winning the Quidditch Cup. It had been an accident, at least as much as he was concerned. He had wanted to win at any cost, but this 'any cost' had been defined only as great efforts on his part and that of his team. He had never thought of actually sabotaging Angela, leave alone humiliating her to shake her confidence and her performance, as the French guys had been humiliated. He had never thought of _stealing_ his victory. It wasn't _that_ important. Cursor was the one to blame. He was no different than those who would use every chance to strip Michel Montresorre from his world title given the smallest chance, even knowing that the guy hadn't done anything wrong. But James had nothing to do with that.

And of course the seventh year who had slipped the potion to Angela should be punished! Sure, it was quite hard to get kicked out of Hogwarts just a few months before graduating but after all, the guy had only himself to blame. He had deliberately sabotaged a match and he had unconsciously placed a fellow student in mortal danger. True, Sirius had come off with a whole skin in comparison, but that had been only because the Headmaster had been protecting _Remus_, that was the only reason Sirius escaped what he deserved. The unknown seventh year was in no such luck. True, he was still a student, but he was probably of age and responsible for his actions. They all were – James, Sirius, everyone. In a year, they would be responsible for their lives. They would have to find their places in the world – but professional Quidditch wasn't James'. He still had no idea what his place was, but he was positive that it held a certain mission – to fight against the dark that had taken place this evening, against those who would erase everything that did not fit the pureblood standard. Who would erase Remus only because he didn't fit. _That_ was worthwhile. _That_ was something that should be won at any cost.


End file.
